Against the Wind
by EagleHeart
Summary: The second part of Reno's story, 82 pages in length. Forgive the crappy formatting at the very beginning, but it was unavoidable.


_Against the Wind_

_(Part 2)_

_Once again I tried to make things work,_

_Facing all the power of society._

_Searching all the answers of the life_

_I'll never make it on my own._

_Was I meant to fail every time?_

_Seems to me that's my destiny.   
  
Is this all that's left for me, confusion and bad memories?   
  
But now, my time has come,_

_No more running in the dark._

_I want much more than this, I really want it all.   
  
Against the wind we run, to every place under the sun.  
We've got so much power inside we will never give up.  
Against the wind we go, towards the new shore.  
Together we forget the sorrow, it's forever gone._

With a furtive glance over his shoulder and an experienced twist of his fingers, Reno unfastened the lock on yet another locker. Very quickly, he went through the contents, swiping a few Gil from a wallet and casually slipping a watch in his pocket. Humming to himself cheerfully, he shut the locker and tucked his findings in his own backpack, alongside a few other ten and twenty bills and a watch or two. Quickly, he zipped the bag up, slinging it over his shoulder and exiting the locker room. He passed the front counter with a friendly wave to the clerk and almost as an afterthought, stopped. "Hey, man, my membership up yet?" It was a small matter to pay the monthly fee and he made enough stealing from lockers to pay it easily. Plus it gave him the opportunity to work out, which in turn gave him an edge when he needed when his schemes involving petty theft went awry.

"Mmm…just about, Reno. You wanna pay now?" the clerk asked, glancing at the screen of the computer before him.

"Sure, may as well…" With practiced negligence, he reached for his wallet. "Damn, it's in my bag. Hang on." Dropping his pack on the floor, he knelt down and flipped his long red ponytail over his shoulder. Rooting around in his bag, he pulled out a crinkled twenty Gil and tossed it on the counter.

The clerk chuckled as the young man stood up and grinned. "Don't know how or why you do it kid. Guy like you, only 'bout twenty, no apparent income, yet you're in here every other day like clockwork and your membership's always paid dead on time. And for what?" The clerk playfully landed a punch on Reno's shoulder. "You ain't getting any bigger, kid, you're lean as a rail."

"Hard as one, too." Reno grinned and cracked his knuckles. "I dunno. It's good to keep in shape."

"For what? You into sports or something?"

"Nah. Dropped outta school when I was sixteen. Wasn't worth it to stick around."

"No? Doesn't seem like it, you're a smart kid…"

Reno laughed. "No I ain't."

"Yeah, laugh about it, jackass. I dunno, you just seem like a clever sorta guy."

Reno shook his head. "Nope."

"Well, whatever. You take care of yourself, ok?"

"Always have, always will." Reno waved again and slipped out of the gym onto the bustling Midgar streets. Once he was a suitable block or so away, he grinned to himself. At twenty-one years old and a healthy five foot eleven, Reno was one of the most competent street rats in Midgar. If necessity is the mother of invention, than survival is the mother of instinct. After an unfulfilling eight years at the orphanage, feeling bitter and resentful towards the world and towards life, an anti-social, cynical, trouble-seeking young teenager had evolved from the broken child who had barely scraped through the aftermath of a car accident. After one fight too many had landed him in the office of Sister Agnes and his opponent in the infirmary with bruises and contusions beyond count, he'd been politely, but firmly asked to leave. Seething inside, he'd taken to the streets, furious at the sisters for banishing him from the orphanage, the jerk who'd been taunting him for getting him in the situation in the first place, and at the whole world in general for dealing him such a crappy hand in life.

"Mornin' Reno!" a rough voice greeted him as he entered the pawnshop; first stop on his afternoon rounds following his bi-daily trips to the gym. "Whatcha got fer me?"

"The usual," Reno answered indifferently, slinging his bag on the counter before the grizzled, tattoo covered old man. "Couple watches, a ring or two…"

"All acquired honestly, no doubt?" the man chuckled.

Reno spread his hands innocently. "Hey, the only dishonesty is the locker companies putting those frickin' cheap locks on those lockers. I'm not stealing, I'm…pointing out the flaws in the security system."

"Suits me," the old man shrugged, pawing through the handful of jewelry Reno had deposited on the counter. "Whaddaya want me t' do if I get some guy comin' in here who recognizes one of these rings?"

"Tell him some poor street kid found it on the floor in a gym locker room and brought it here as a lost and found sorta deal. And tell him you gave the kid a nice reward for doing such a good deed." Reno eyed the dealer meaningfully. "Speaking of which…"

"Well…there ain't much in this lot, Reno…I'd say…only 'bout fifty."

Reno's green eyes hardened. "Fifty? Don't gimme that shit, bastard, I know what this is worth and I'm not taking less then a hundred."

The man snorted. "Don't kid yourself. I'll say sixty, 'cuz I like you and I know you're a kid tryin' to make it on your own, but…"

Reno cut him off and leaned across the counter, hand closing around the hilt of a knife that was displayed by the cash register. "You'll say seventy-five before I slit open and stuff your guts up your nose."

The dealer met Reno's glare with one of his own, then laughed. "Dammit, you ain't as dumb as you look. Ah well, I'll get you next time. Tell you what, I'll go seventy-five, and you can keep the little butter knife."

"Deal."

"What the hell you need money for? You probably swiped a ton today…" the dealer casually rifled through Reno's bag.

"What's it to you?" Reno asked indignantly, pulling his bag out of the clerk's reach.

"Just lookin' out for you kid…" The dealer held up a battered matchbook. "The Eye and the Olive? High class, squirt, I only been there once…"

"I've never been there," Reno replied, deftly snatching the small object from the man's fingers. "Where is it?" he questioned casually.

"Sector Three." The dealer counted bills into Reno's outstretched palm.

"Yeah? Hmm…well, it's about time for me to change locations. I've been hearing a bit too much talk of thieves around the locker room. I'll tell you, the whole damn neighborhood's gone to pot."

The man laughed. "Yeah, I know what you mean. You take care o' yourself kid. Sector Three's kinda rough, not like our good ol' Sector Eight. There're guys who'll jump you for the shirt offa your back. Make good use o' that knife."

"I will," Reno promised, stuffing the money into his pocket and leaving the shop. Realizing he'd built up an appetite, he wandered through the streets towards a small café he frequented. Sitting down at his favorite table in the corner, he ordered and sipped the coffee the waitress brought him. To the casual observer, as he reached into his bag to pull out a battered soft cover novel, he was nothing more than a university or maybe even high school student, studying. He fixed his eyes on the text, not actually reading, rather considering what his next move would be. Sector Eight was a nice enough place to live, and in truth, so far, it was lushly profitable. He'd favored the sector for about three months, making a good enough living, stealing from the gym and picking pockets to keep himself fed. Not that there weren't bad days that sometimes stretched to bad weeks. He recalled a particularly bad incidence where he had been caught stealing from another gym and had gotten the tar beaten out of him, badly enough to arouse sympathy from the other patrons of the sports club. Slumped half-conscious on the floor with an ox of a bodybuilder standing over him, being restrained by several others, he remembered being referred to as a "mixed up kid" and being rather thankful that none of his spur of the moment guardians knew that he'd stolen just as much from them.

"Thanks," he nodded to the waitress as she set a bowl of soup before him. Sector Three was a new challenge. Red warning flags tended to go up in reference to any sector with a number lower than four. Sectors One through Three were decidedly seamier than the rest of Midgar and he'd generally avoided them. The only exception he made was for quick crossings when he needed to from Sector Four to Sector Eight without going back through the other three sectors. Now that he looked back, there was a bit of a rotation in the pattern he went from the five "safe" sectors. Sector Three was certainly a challenge, but why would it be one he'd want to undertake? On the whole, life was good in Sector Eight. As far as he could tell, things wouldn't be any better in Sector Three, they'd probably be even worse. Why risk his life and livelihood?

_"Because your mother might live in Sector Three, dumbass," _a voice in the back of his mind explained.

He frowned. Why would he want to find his mother? His mother, who had left him on the steps of an orphanage to be raised by a bunch of strangers. _"Maybe," _he reasoned, _"maybe, I'm hanging onto the hope that she might give a damn that I'm alive."_

Looking at it from a rational perspective, it was a foolish expectation. But, twisting the story around in his mind, he could almost see the woman who had given him life having a logical explanation for leaving him. Maybe she hadn't had the money to raise him. Maybe she couldn't have provided him with the care he'd very badly needed as a child, having been infected with tuberculosis a few weeks after birth. Hell, as long as he was dreaming, maybe she'd come back looking for him, only to find he'd been adopted. With a strange sort of resolution, he left the café, leaving ten Gil on the table and deciding it wouldn't be a good idea to start for Sector Three so close to sunset and making for an alley behind an apartment building. Easily, he swung onto the ladder leading the rooftop and climbed up, hand over hand. Reaching the top, he smirked. He definitely would be going to Sector Three with a physical advantage.

"Home sweet home…" he remarked aloud, settling down in the corner of the roof. He found the tops of buildings were excellent places to sleep on clear nights if it wasn't too cold out. They were usually unoccupied, quiet, and he got a tremendous view of the stars. If there was one thing that never failed to fascinate him, it was the movement of the heavens. For hours, he'd lie awake on the roof, watching the stars and planets trace their ancient paths across the sky. Stretching out, resting his head on his bag, he watched sunset set the horizon afire. Critically, he glanced towards Sectors One, Two, and Three. The first sectors built in Midgar, they were poorly designed and thus clouds of smog hung over them. He decided he would sorely miss his sky when he made the move from Sector Eight, the epitome of Sector Design, well planned with few industrial sections and the downtown area he haunted well patrolled by police to keep the more violent criminals down. With a heavy sigh, he recalled the one disadvantage of rooftops, they allowed for quiet contemplation. Quiet contemplation, which tended to send him spiraling into a massive depression, and lend the need for him to find a bottle to drown his memories in. Memories of when his childhood had gone amiss. Memories of a little boy who'd been left behind too many times to let anyone close enough for it to happen again. First his mother had abandoned him, then his adopted parents, and finally Sister Lisa who had been transferred to another orphanage while he was in the hospital, struggling to recover from an accident that would have claimed his life if not for some miracle. He'd never properly thanked god for sparing him, but he figured god had a lot of explaining to do for screwing him over so many times. _"Not even a goodbye…"_

"She probably tried…" he defended his old friend aloud. "I wasn't exactly conscious for a month…" He chuckled. "Talking to myself…I've finally snapped…Ah well. Reno, Reno, Reno, look at you now…alone yet again, stealing for a measly living, and chasing another stupid dream…a fleeting vision of a woman who probably never cared about you and probably never will…I'll never learn…"

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A soft pattering of rain on his forehead woke Reno. He looked up, disappointed, to see his sky, at this time it usually would have been bathed in a rosy golden hue of dawn, but now it was a cheerless light gray. He didn't take it as a good sign, not that he was the sort of sap who believed in omens and stuff like that. It was just he'd never known anything good to happen on a rainy day. Standing up and stretching, he dug a jacket out of his backpack. Pulling it on, he leaned against the half wall at the edge of the rooftop, surveying the skyline of the place he'd been calling home for several months. Sector Eight was by far the best Sector he'd lived in, providing enough criminal activity for him to live by his standards, low though they were and holding the promise of homeless shelters during the winter. _"Winter is **not** a nice time of year for a…vagabond like me. No way I'm staying in Sector Three for the winter, I have no desire to see hell freeze over."_

Setting his shoulders resolutely, he made his way from the roof of his building down to the street level. The early morning streets weren't crowded, and he made his way quickly towards the train that looped around the sectors, connecting each on a track like a wheel. Entering the station, he approached the counter, smiling at the woman behind it shyly. "Sector Three, please. Going home for a weekend. It's kinda lonely being at school and away from my family…"

The woman grunted and handed him a ticket. "Twenty six fifty."

Reno handed over the cash. "Thank you ma'am, have a good day." Walking away from the counter he grinned to himself. It was a lot more profitable to assume the role of a university student. He could pull off the look and the mannerisms with ease and he'd noticed people tended to respect students. Approaching the train, he passed his ticket to the guard and climbed on the train. Finding a seat, he sat down and stretched comfortably, pulling out his book. A battered copy of "Black Rose" was his constant companion, partly because it was a good book, and partly because it added to his disguise as a literary student. Thinking some more, he decided that the academic image he'd become so used to portraying was unlikely to be of much use in Sector Three. He was nervous about heading to the new Sector. The living conditions were as close as one could get to those under the plate and Reno shuddered to think what life would be like for someone of his caliber. Alone with his thoughts, time passed quickly until the train shuddered to a halt in Sector Three station.

--------------------------------------------

Two days had passed, and already Reno loathed Sector Three. The sky was constantly dark, the atmosphere was muggy in the midsummer heat, and Reno thought he was getting sick from the cloud of smog hanging over the area. He knew very well his lungs weren't strong and he'd decided the sooner he left the hellhole, the better. Pickings were very, very slim. Every single person in the sector guarded their valuables with their lives and there was little chance of him acquiring any cash to replenish his depleted funds, without resorting to extreme violence. One night of attempting to sleep on a roof had left him so viciously ill from the fumes at the top; he'd had to rent a hotel room to recover. He hadn't eaten since he'd left Sector Eight and was keeping fifty Gil in reserve for when he'd want to head back home.

Getting a little desperate for a food, Reno wandered through the downtown part of the sector, in the dusky half-light of the smog-hindered sunset. Entering a diner, he sat down at an empty and none too clean table, looking around for a waitress. The restaurant didn't look very reputable and when he did finally flag down a waitress, it took a further half hour for his food to actually arrive. The mere sight of what was supposed to be a grilled cheese sandwich, but closer resembled a blackened square of what may have been bread, would normally have relieved him of his appetite, but he was too hungry to honestly care. Wolfing it down quickly, he left a couple Gil on the table and exited the restaurant. With a sigh, he realized the trains wouldn't be running until early the next morning and reluctantly decided he needed a place to stay for the evening. He'd all but forgotten about his original objective, and was now focused on getting back to a habitable sector. Whether or not his mother even still lived in Sector Three, it simply wasn't worth the effort. In place of the foolish hope that had originally been present, he now saw all the little illogical nuances that seemed to doom whatever hope had flourished inside him. This was why it seemed incredibly ironic that he stumble across the "Eye and the Olive" while looking for a place to sleep.

For a long moment he stared up at the blinking neon sign with the oh-so-familiar symbol of what was unmistakably an eye in a martini glass. Absently he pulled out the matchbook he'd found tucked in the palm of his hand so many years ago. He laughed as he realized the matchbook was shaking because his hand was trembling. "Damn…I've really lost it…" he muttered to himself. "Aw…hell…" Shaking off whatever doubts or fears he felt inside, Reno entered the smoky lounge. He wasn't surprised to see the lighting was low and sensual and that there were scantily clad young women waiting on the business men that laughed and drank around the low tables before a stage at the front of the room.

Reno nearly jumped out of his skin when he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder. "You got good reason t' be in here, son?" a deep voice snarled, forcefully turning Reno around. He was a little less than pleased to find himself facing a six and a half foot tall Goliath, with a scowl on his face. Mind racing, he attempted to come up with a convincing lie.

"Butch?" a slurred voice called from a table near the stage. "Whatcha got there?"

"Some punk-ass kid," the mammoth growled, glaring at Reno.

Despite the situation, Reno managed to feel quite indignant at being called a 'kid'. After all, it was hardly his first time patronizing such an establishment, though he'd never been to one that was so obviously upper class. A twenty-one year old, left to his own devices in a city as large as Midgar is liable to engage in habits that are slightly less than reputable.

"Let 'im go. Come over here, junior." A portly man in an olive green suit beckoned to Reno, pulling out a chair at the table he and his friends sat at.

With a grunt, the large man shoved Reno forward, leaving the youth rubbing his shoulder in rueful annoyance. "Thanks."

The businessman chuckled as Reno sat down. "No problem, kid. What's your name?"

"Reno. You're drunk, ain'tcha?" Reno asked, eyeing the man.

The man howled with laughter. "I like you, kid." He waved to a waitress. "Bambi! Get my friend here a drink! Whaddaya want, squirt?"

"Whatever you wanna give me," Reno shrugged. "And it wasn't that damn funny," he added under his breath. He wasn't entirely sure of the older man's motives, but he certainly wasn't in the mood to pass up a free drink.

Another of the men leaned across the table. "Bill's a little drunk tonight. He's not usually this…"

"Friendly?" Reno suggested dryly, taking a small sip of the amber liquid "Bill" had ordered him.

The man grinned. "Precisely. I'm Sherman. What're you doing here, kid?"

"Curious aren't we? Tell me, am I the only one in this whole bar who isn't smashed out of his skull?"

"You're damn stuck up, kid. Pretty high and mighty for a street rat," Sherman chuckled.

"I'm the best there is. Although…I can't think why I left my nice cozy haunt in Sector Eight to visit this hellhole…" Reno sighed.

Sherman shook his head. "This is where we business types come to relax, unwind, and cheat on our doting wives."

"Despicable," Reno snorted, managing to sound disdainful.

Sherman laughed again. "I like your style. You know, I've got a career opportunity for you if you're as good as you say you are…"

Reno didn't get a chance to pursue the matter as Bill grabbed his arm and pointed to the stage. "You lookit close, junior. Today's Shauna's birthday and we're all celebrating. Thirty-five years! This kid don't look a day over twenty though…"

"My good gentlemen!" A slick looking man in a white tuxedo leapt onto the stage with a cordless microphone. "Have I got a treat for you or what? As we are all aware, today is the birthday of our most beloved performer, Shauna! Let's see if we can't get our favorite lady to come out, huh?"

There was an enthusiastic roar from the audience as a feathered toe peeked out from the curtains of the stage. As though startled, the owner of the toe pulled it back behind the curtain.

"C'mon girly, don't be shy!" Bill hollered.

This time, the beginnings of a thigh made their way out from between the red velvet. Suddenly, Reno felt a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach. All the illusions he'd created for himself vanished with the dreadful realization that he was about to meet his mother. He wasn't entirely sure how he knew, but he did understand that this was one of the instances where his instincts wouldn't fail him. One of the first things he'd learnt was to trust the inborn intuition he seemed to have explicitly. Thus when he heard a sensual voice singing "Happy Birthday" with obscene new lyrics and the rowdy hoots and carousing of the room full of businessmen, he buried his face in his hands.

_"My mother. What was I expecting that this is such a letdown?" _Grimly, he started to understand that maybe the hopes he'd been fighting against were stronger than he thought. With a heavy sigh, he got up and made his way towards the exit, not once turning around to even look at the woman.

"Whoa! Hold it, stop everything!" a sharp woman's voice called. Immediately all motion in the lounge ceased, except for the young man moving implacably towards the door. "Hey! Hey, you! Kid!"

Reno slowly turned around, looking up at the woman on stage, clad in a tiny bikini and glaring daggers at him. Her hair was the same flaming red as his and her eyes burned like teal fire.

"_No one_ walks out in the middle of one of my performances," she hissed. "Especially not on my birthday."

There were loud jeers and shouts from the audience, but Reno didn't hear them. Instead, he lifted his eyes and met the glare of his mother. "No one? That's me. I'll be going now."

There was a harsh cry of dissent from the audience, but Shauna silenced it with a wave of her hand. A slow smile spread across her face. "I think the kid just doesn't know what's good for him…"

Despite the numb feeling inside of him, Reno felt his face flush as the woman sauntered off the stage and walked over to where he stood. There were yet more taunts and shouting from the audience as Shauna walked up to him, eyes smoldering.

"Well, kid? You're lucky, none of these scum are gonna get this close tonight…_do_ try not to embarrass me…" Shauna commented in a low tone, circling Reno.

As she stopped in front of him and laid a hand on his cheek he finally flinched. The implications of just how wrong what this woman…his _mother_, was doing, finally set in. "Don't touch me. You don't know me, you don't care who I am, so get your filthy hands offa me, bitch," he answered in a dangerously quiet tone, but everyone in the bar seemed to hear it.

There was a stunned silence and Shauna's eyes widened in shock. "Why…you…you little…" Disbelief in her eyes hardening to malice, she drew back her hand and struck Reno as hard as she could. This time however, he didn't balk and instead glared down at the woman, who wasn't quite as tall as he was.

"Burn. In. Hell." He turned away from her and walked through the silence of the bar and unhindered through the exit. Once outside and a suitable distance away from the lounge, he slunk into an alley and sat down with his back against the wall and a hand pressed against his cheek. Beneath the seething layer of anger, there was a very deep hurt, but he'd sooner die than let it out.

"My mother…" he mumbled softly to himself. Even the cynical voice that taunted him in the back of his head and usually shouted mocking words like "I told you so!" was silent, almost remorseful.

_"That wasn't your mother. Your mother was a beautiful, smart, loving woman who was killed in a car crash when you were eight," _the voice supplied helpfully.

Reno bit his lip. "She…that was my mother."

_"**That**…was some worthless whore who got herself knocked up and you were the result," _the voice corrected in disgust_._

Reno pulled the matchbook out of his pocket and looked at the name scrawled on the back. "And who's this? Is this my father? Am I named after my father?"

_"No, your father was a good man. He was an accountant and he used to read to you when you were little. He's with your mother now."_

Slowly, Reno nodded to himself. He even managed a weak laugh at the thought that he was sitting in a dark alley, sulking and talking to himself. Resolutely, he decided to get rid of the tiny memento. All it had caused him was heartache and the discovery of a past he hadn't needed to know about. He came to the conclusion that it would be symbolic to take a match and burn the matchbook. Reno opened it, and looked at the small medallion on a silver chain that was tucked securely inside.

"What in the hell…?" He pulled the pendant out and examined it closely. Carved on the front was some ecclesiastical figure, and inscribed on the back were the letters: "E.C.I." He had absolutely no idea where it had come from, and then the realization dawned that it must have been a parting gift from Sister Lisa. Hesitantly, he unclasped the chain and slipped it around his neck. Surprisingly, the metal felt warm against his skin, after spending approximately twelve years in his pocket. With a new kind of resolution, he stood up and decided to go looking for a church.

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Wandering the streets of Midgar at night is not a pleasant endeavor. Especially when you have only a vague idea of where you are, and no idea of your destination. Within half an hour, Reno was certifiably lost. Sector Three, aside from being a hellhole, was a confusing hellhole. Every alley, street corner, and building looked identical in the smoggy darkness. Consistency was a failing on the part of the inept city planners who had established the parameters for creating the third sector. Despairingly, Reno wandered into a bus station and sat down on a bench with his head in his hands. Mentally he swore that when…_if_ he got out of Sector Three alive, he would never return and find a safe haven in one of the better Sectors.

Glancing up with a sigh, he caught sight of a map. Remembering his objective, he got up and examined the drawing. His eyes scanned the image for a symbol of a cross. Reno grinned as he noticed there was one located within the general vicinity of the star with the label "You are here". Exiting the building and getting his bearings quickly, he headed north, hoping to find St. Ninian's Cathedral. The streetlights suddenly blinked off and Reno realized it was a lot later, or earlier than he'd realized. Fairly soon dawn filtered through the grayish cloud of smog above the city. Relieved, Reno caught sight of a small building with a cross beside the name. Hesitantly, he opened the door and entered the church. The foyer was blazoned with children's drawings of hearts and crosses and smiling, happy families.

"Damn lucky kids…" Reno muttered under his breath, immediately kicking himself for swearing in a church. Silently, he wandered towards the sanctuary, stopping when he saw an elderly priest kneeling before the altar, obviously deep in prayer. Awkwardly, Reno waited in the aisle, not wanting to interrupt the cleric and at the same time unsure whether or not to sit down in one of the pews.

The elderly priest suddenly looked up and smiled benignly. "Good morning, my son. How does God's grace find you on this glorious autumn morn?"

Reno blinked and scuffed his shoes on the carpet, jamming a hand into his pocket.

The priest stood up and sighed. "Oh. One of these again. Very well, my son, what is it you wish? I have little money on me and what precious few relics are church does have are of little market value."

"I'm not here to steal anything…" Reno mumbled. "I…I need to ask a question."

The old man's face crinkled into a smile. "Oh good. I hunger for the thought of the youth of the streets coming to seek knowledge. Ask away my son. My name is Father Bennett."

"Umm…Father…could you tell me who this is?" Reno quickly removed the medallion from around his neck and handed it to the man.

Father Bennett examined it closely through square spectacles perched on the end of his nose. "Ah. St. Charles. Patron saint of crusaders." He handed the medallion back to Reno and he slipped it back on.

"Of what?"

"Crusaders. Knights," Bennett explained.

"Oh." In spite of himself, Reno liked the old priest. There was a certain calm, kindness about his manner that intrigued the youth. "Umm…thanks…"

"Not at all, my son. May I ask where you got it?"

"A…a friend…when I was little," Reno answered, feeling the matchbook in his pocket with his fingers.

"I see." Bennett cast his bespectacled eyes over Reno's lean frame. "Would you like to join me for breakfast…ah…"

"Reno."

Bennett nodded. "Strange name for one who bears the crest of St. Charles."

"It's my last name," Reno answered quickly. "My first name is Charles." Since the resolution of who his biological parents were, Reno felt less and less attached to his name. It served only to dredge up bad feelings, and he felt strangely indignant at having to share it with some stranger, even if the stranger was his father. He was reluctant to part with in entirely though, and settled for a new first name and the demotion of "Reno" to a surname.

"I understand. Will you be joining me?"

"I dunno…" Reno felt guilty, accepting the invitation. "I should go…"

"You would deprive a lonely old man of company?" Bennett teased. "Come on now. My treat."

"I shouldn't…"

Bennett laid a hand on his shoulder. "I insist."

"Mr.…Father, I just met you…I mean, you're a priest and I'm a…"

"Punk ass kid?"

Reno halted in shock at hearing the priest using the slang he was so often referred to by. Dumbly he nodded, meeting his elder's twinkling blue eyes.

Bennett laughed. "Well, I don't think so. I am, after all, only a lowly servant of God."

"Well, he cares a hell of a lot more about you than he does about me," Reno answered, finding himself following the priest out to his small car. "Augh. Sorry, Father…"

"Perfectly all right, my son. Why would you have reason to believe our Holy Father doesn't care about you?"

Reno didn't answer, staring at a rosary dangling from the rearview window of the car. "Well…when I was little…"

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Sitting in the restaurant, a cup of coffee untouched before him, Reno cursed himself a thousand times for spilling out his entire story to some stranger. Granted, the stranger was a priest, but Reno still felt sick inside. Contrary to popular belief, talking about all the god-awful things that had happened to him had not made him feel any better. Rather, at times he'd felt even worse. Tears had welled in his eyes when he got to the part of his story where his adoptive parents died. Not so when he related who his real mother was. Voice colder than ice, he'd told the story of the previous evenings events, falling silent at the end.

Father Bennett sipped his coffee, regarding the young man before him. He definitely looked underfed; there was a sort of hollow leanness about his cheeks that indicated he probably didn't eat much. There was something about his eyes though, that conveyed more emotion than his gaunt face ever could. He'd seen sadness, anger, and the soft glow of fond memories flicker through the deep teal of his eyes. Now they were filled with a sort of mocking sorrow, traces of regret, and a hint of anger, left over from speaking about his biological mother. "Reno?" Bennett said gently.

"Yeah?" Reno's answer was almost clipped.

"It's ok."

Reno looked up, startled and surprisingly comforted. "No, not really."

"You're alive. Would you prefer to be dead? There are many times in your story where you could have been killed easily. I think someone's looking out for you."

"Who, him?" Reno pointed upward. "Nah. I stay outta his way, he stays outta mine. I don't think he cares one way or another."

Bennett shook his head. "If you feel unprepared to accept that there is an omnipotent, omniscient entity watching over you, would you feel prepared to accept the aid of a more personal guardian?"

"Huh?"

"What if it were your mother looking out for you? Could you accept her help?" Bennett questioned.

"I guess…she's dead though. And don't give me all that sh…junk about heaven and stuff."

Bennett shook his head. "Reno, can you seriously believe that this is all there is? Seventy, eighty years, max on a tiny little planet?"

"I dunno." Reno felt a little stupid, not open for a philosophical discussion.

"A lot of people believe differently."

Reno shrugged. "I don't get it."

Bennett smiled. "In that case, my son, I shall explain…"

"Don't waste your time. I'm too dumb," Reno protested.

"I beg to differ. You're quite clever for a man of your age, and you put a bit of a different spin on things. I should very much enjoy talking with you."

--------------------------------------------

Eight hours and innumerable cups of coffee later, Reno walked out of the small restaurant after bidding good-bye to his new mentor. The old man was evidently wise and Reno was proud to have argued him into a corner several times.

Heading past an alley, he decided maybe Sector Three wasn't so bad after all. Father Bennett had made the valid point that there was beauty in all things, and Reno now concentrated on that. Wandering through the streets, he continued to contemplate the elderly priest's argument, before realizing he'd wandered back to the lounge where his mother worked. Clenching his hands into fists and fighting down the anger that stirred inside him, he strode away from the building, passing an alley. He heard a low voice down the alley and, out of curiosity, stopped to listen.

The man in the alley chuckled into a small PHS. "Dino? It's Flick."

_"What a stupid name…" _Reno thought to himself.

"Yeah, I asked about the red head…damn, were you right…uh huh…dirt cheap…you don't say…"

Reno felt hot rage bubbling inside of him. The very thought of his mother sent him spiraling into a black fury. He knew it was wrong and defied what normal people thought of their mothers, but he couldn't help it. He hated the woman for abandoning him. For making him think that there was an off chance of her caring about him the way a mother was supposed to. And now, Reno felt a powerful urge to inflict some serious pain. He figured he could easily take the man in the alley, get a couple Gil off him and head back to Sector Eight. He grinned to himself and slunk into the passageway, keeping to the shadows, silent as death itself. The blue suited man was still talking on his cell phone, oblivious, as Reno crept up and darted out of the shadows, wrenching the man's arm behind his back with a simple twist. He was a little startled to feel sinewy muscle in the man's arm, but ignored it.

"What have we here?" the man murmured. "I'm impressed, junior, not many people manage to sneak up on me."

"Shut up," Reno growled.

"Oh hush, squirt. I suppose you want my wallet, huh?" he chuckled.

"Very good, Mr. Business man, sir. I'll be taking that and leaving now." With practiced ease, Reno reached into the man's pocket, hand freezing as he touched the handle of a gun.

"Me? A business man?" the dark suited man chuckled. "Far from it…"

Reno felt a familiar horrified feeling that tended to creep up on him when his schemes went awry. "Who the hell…?" His question was cut off as he felt a wave of pain rack his body, emanating from his lower back. With a sharp cry he released his captive and crumpled to the ground, feeling like he'd totally lost control of his body.

There was sudden silence in the alley. Despite the effort he put into it, Reno couldn't lift his body from the damp floor of the alley. He couldn't even open his eyes when a voice spoke. "Dear god, Poke, I can take care of myself."

"No, you can't, Flick," another voice snorted. "Look, you got jumped by a kindergartner."

"Well, you didn't have to shock him…I hope that's all you did," Flick said accusingly. "Don't fool around with my nightstick."

Poke grunted and nudged Reno in the ribs with his foot. In spite of the fact that his head was pounding and every muscle in his body screamed in pain, Reno seriously wanted to get up and beat some sense into whomever it was who had done whatever they did to him. "You left it behind. It can't be all that important if you would forget it. I never forget my fists anywhere."

"There's a substantial difference in our equipment."

"You get to electrocute more people than I do."

"Oh god…Poke, you didn't kill him did you?" Flick groaned, kneeling down and laying a hand on Reno's back. "You're damn lucky you didn't. President Shinra does _not_ take kindly to us killing innocent citizens."

"He started it," Poke grumbled. Silence fell again and Reno felt Flick place an experimental hand on his bicep. "Oh shit. Flick, you got that look again…"

"Shut up, Poke, lemme think…" Flick murmured.

"Dammit, you can't go recruiting everyone you lay eyes on! Why can't we just haul 'em down to HQ like the guys who work outside the city?" Poke whined.

"Because it's not good for PR. We've got a bad enough rep already. Shinra says no drafting inside the city."

Poke grunted again. "You can't possibly be thinking about recruiting this kid?"

Reno wished he could muster the strength to at least make some sort of noise. _"I should die. I should die right here and now. That'd show 'em…"_

"C'mon. There's been a rash of promotions. That new kid…argh…what's his name…you know, the one I nabbed, way back when…"

"Valentine," Poke supplied. "And he isn't so new anymore."

"Yeah. Well, he's moving up fast. From seventh class, to sixth in a year, skipped right over fifth to fourth and gunning for third sometime soon. At some point in time, he'll need a squad and if there aren't any recruits, he won't get one."

"He's just shy of twenty-six," Poke said incredulously. "And already you're hand picking a squad for him? He'll resent it, you know. He's hardly a child."

"I know that…"

"And besides, not every kid you pick up off the streets can make the grade."

"I think this one could. He's pretty lean…"

"Lean as in scrawny," Poke disagreed. "All these street kids have absolutely no meat on their bones."

"We'll give him a shot," Flick decided, kneeling down and pulling a pen and paper from his pocket. Quickly he scribbled a note and pressed it into Reno's palm. There was a momentary pause and Reno felt the man press something else into his hand. Finally he managed a weak groan.

"Let's scram, Flick," Poke said urgently.

"Yeah. What's the matter; scared the kindergartner will beat you up?" Flick answered mockingly.

"Shut up. Let's just go."

Reno heard retreating footsteps and managed to open his eyes. It was a further ten minutes before he could stumble to his feet. He looked at the handful of money in his fist and the crumpled note. Stuffing the Gil in his pocket he scanned the letter.

_Dear Unidentified Street Rat,_

_I like your style kid. From the unhealthy lack of fat on your body, I'd guess you don't eat much and running from the authorities quickly burns off what you do eat. I think you've got the potential to join the Turks. If you think so, swing by 304, __Alamasy Avenue__ and we'll talk about getting you recruited._

_Flick_

_PS: The money I gave you? Pocket change compared to what you'd earn as a Turk. Think about it, kid._

"Style? What style? I just wanted the bastard's &#$ money…" Reno grumbled. Resentfully, he stuffed the note in his pocket and stretched. "Oww…" Extremely annoyed at the "Turks" he decided he needed a good sleep in a proper bed, something he experienced very rarely. The past few days had been distinctly less than productive. Fishing in his pocket, he was rather surprised to find at least five hundred Gil. "Pocket change, huh?"

--------------------------------------------

"S'cuse me?" Reno asked a drunk, slumped in front of the door of 304, Alamasy Avenue. It was a plain looking building, about ten or twelve stories tall. The man didn't answer and Reno kicked him in the side. "Hey, mister, pay attention! Listen, I got this letter from…"

"So your Flick's new pet, eh?" The drunk opened one heavily lidded eye and glanced shrewdly up at the wiry youth. "Go right on in. Down the hall, then turn right, then down that hall, then left, then right twice and into the last room."

Reno blinked. "You aren't drunk."

"No, I'm certainly not," the man laughed. "Turks don't get drunk. Pretty far fall for me though, now I'm just a doorman."

"I'm gonna break that rule if I get in," Reno scowled, entering the building. He followed the pseudo drunk's directions and soon found himself in a drab hallway in front of a plain looking door. "Sheesh. Some headquarters," Reno grumbled to himself. Hesitantly, he knocked on the door. There was a strange silence and Reno thought he heard the slightest sound behind him. Still tense from the previous night's electrocution; he didn't turn around, rather kicked the door and muttered to himself, then began to turn around. Before making it all the way, he threw himself to the ground, feeling a rush of air as someone leapt over him. His adversary hit the ground with a curse and a quick roll to his feet. Reno jumped up and attacked the unknown assailant with a tackle of his own, knocking him back and drawing his knife quickly. "Just what the hell d'you think you're doing?" he demanded, holding his dagger to the man's throat.

The Turk chuckled. "Nice. Very nice. I knew you'd do well, kid. I don't think a knife is quite the most suitable weapon for you, though…"

"Shut up. Who the hell are you? Are you the &$%#%, rat ass, son of a bitch who brought me here?"

"That I am. Name's Flick."

"Stupid name," Reno growled.

"Maybe."

Reno wasn't exactly sure how, but within the next five seconds, Flick managed to get to his feet, throwing Reno off in the process, and pin him against the wall. "Lemme go! #$&! I swear to god, I've got no reason to be here! I dunno why the hell I came!"

Flick chuckled again; meeting Reno's blazing eyes as he held him pinned to the wall with one hand. "Well, you did. And it's no one's fault but yours. Mind you, now that you're here, there's no way you're leaving except in a midnight blue suit, or a body bag. Your decision."

"You mean I don't even get a #$&%# choice?" Reno demanded, outraged.

"You got a choice. You chose to come here. This is a one way street, kid." Flick smiled. "Welcome to basic training."

Reno groaned. "I don't wanna…"

Flick gave him a stern look. "You've got the potential to be better than a street rat. What's gonna happen to you? You'll live a life of stealing, murder, and violence and die in a gutter somewhere."

"What happens if I join the Turks?"

"You live a life of stealing, murder, and violence…but you'll learn to do it with class and your chances of dying in a gutter are slim," Flick said brightly. "And you'll have a lot of money. And women. And fun."

Reno sighed. "Fine. Bring it on."

--------------------------------------------

Reno cracked his knuckles nervously, waiting around in the hallway with several other young men. He'd adjusted quickly to life at the "Seminary" as his fellow potential recruits called it. The outer appearance was a very clever disguise for what was more like a university for Turks. Reno soon discovered that, aside from rising ten stories in the air the academy also dropped about five below the ground, as deep as they could get before breaking through the plate. The bottom floors were hands-on training facilities. Low-level monsters roamed Basement One, the deeper you got, the higher leveled the monsters. Reno had mastered the deepest level. He was getting to be top of his class in almost everything. Lessons were different here. Geography was taught, but it consisted more of escape routes and the locations hidden headquarters of various different establishments that the Turks had throughout the world. Reno knew the world better than most anyone, and yet he'd never left Midgar in his twenty-four years. Aside from that, little else was the same. Mostly, days consisted of training and small classes of students learning to specialize in different weapons. His area of expertise was the nightstick or electro-mag rod as some called it. Upon accepting that it was his fate to become a Turk (or die trying) he'd demanded to know what weapon had been used on him when he'd first run across Flick, who, incidentally, turned out to be the specialist in that department. Despite his skill, potential and overall capability of becoming a Turk, he was still insanely nervous about whether or not he would make the final grade.

"You nervous, Reno?" a short, stocky young man asked.

"Me? Nervous?" Reno laughed. "Nah. I know I'm getting in," he lied.

"I'm nervous," the young man confessed. "You know what happens to us if we fail?"

"I only know what happens if we pass," Reno answered. "We move on. Graduate. We're Turks."

"Scary thought…"

Silence fell as a man in a blue suit, twirling a nightstick entered the hallway. "So, who thinks they made the grade?" Flick asked.

The class in the hallway remained still. Finally Reno got sick of the silence and boldly raised his hand.

Flick chuckled. "I figured you'd think so, Reno. Well, for once in your life, you're right."

Reno's eyes widened. "I…I'm in?"

"Yes, you are." Flick clapped a friendly hand on his shoulder. "Go pack your bags, junior, we're heading for the hardest part. Oh, and by the way, there's a suit in your dormitory. Should be about your size. Put it on, try to look presentable, and meet me and the other recruits in the second basement lobby."

Dumbly Reno nodded, hardly feeling it when several of his friends clapped him on the shoulder. He headed back to his dormitory and found a midnight blue suit, just as Flick had said. Awkwardly he pulled it on and looked at himself in the mirror. It was remarkable how much a person could change in a few years. He was still lean, but not unhealthy looking. Rather than a messy, unkempt ponytail, his hair was tied back neatly, draped over his shoulder. He didn't like the way the suit looked though. Too stiff and rigid for his taste. The jacket was open and the top few buttons of his dress shirt were undone. _"I just need to break it in," _he decided, mentally making a note never to let the suit be ironed, starched, or folded. He walked down the hallway, grinning at the whistles and hoots that several of his fellow students offered. Reaching the elevator, he jabbed the button, and the doors slid open. With a sigh he pressed the button labeled "B2-a" and began his descent. When the doors opened next, he found himself in a large holding bay, beside a train with several teachers standing around, each with their own corresponding candidate.

"Reno! Over here!" Flick yelled, waving at Reno.

"What's this all about, sir?" Reno asked while his teacher eyed him critically.

"Reno, there is proper decorum involved in wearing a suit," Flick scolded.

With a shrug, Reno shook his head. "I don't like it."

"It doesn't matter whether or not you _like _it."

"Well, I don't plan on wearing it properly," Reno snorted. "Where're we going anyway?"

"You're Turks, but now you need partners."

"Why do we need to go somewhere to get a partner?" Reno asked.

"Because you know all these people too well. There's a training center in every sector and you'll be matched up with one of those people. It's sort of like a tournament. You're all pitted against each other…with orders to incapacitate, not kill, of course…and whomever you fight to a standstill is your partner."

Reno looked confused. "Ok…"

"After that, you're assigned a squad leader…or, rather, a squad leader is assigned to you."

"I guess that makes sense. Where'd this train come from?" Reno looked suspiciously at the sleek subway train that he had definitely not noticed before.

"It leads to the Shinra headquarters through a private system of underground tunnels. It takes about an hour to get there, but there'll be a bit of a party on board so you can relax and…break in your newfound status."

Reno grinned. "Lead on!"

--------------------------------------------

"Excellent! Bravo, Reno!" Flick clapped as hard as he could as Reno sauntered around the battle arena, leaving a team of paramedics to collect his twitching opponent. There was a thunderous roar from the audience as Reno turned to grin and wave at the Hierarchy, senior executives, Turks, CEO's and hundreds of Shinra employees who had gathered to watch the matches that would determine partnership within the elite force of the Turks. The tiered seats of the arena were almost packed and even President Shinra himself was present.

"Is this all they got, coach?" Reno called mockingly. "Damn, I'm never gonna get a partner…"

A row behind Flick, a young man with dark hair and brown eyes as hard as agates rolled his eyes. "Where did they dredge _that_ up?"

Flick glared at the younger Turk with severity. "Shut up, Valentine. I don't understand your disdain for public events, but you would do well to keep your mouth shut."

Vincent regarded his senior with an unreadable expression. "Oh. My mistake. Is that brash, overconfident, damnably cocky creature _yours_?"

Flick clenched his jaw as another young Turk sitting beside him punched Vincent's shoulder amiably. "Lighten up," his friend chided.

"Yeah, Trig's right," a young man with reddish brown hair and wire rimmed glasses commented. "Do try and enjoy yourself."

"Sketch, why do you always take his side?" Vincent grumbled, returning his attention to the match. A small recruit with a dagger in his teeth was slowly circling a big lug with a length of chain in one hand. "Crude. Very crude. Although no more so than the delightful _stick _that our red headed friend fought with…"

Flick sucked air through his teeth. "You, Mr. Valentine, are on thin ice…"

Poke laid a hand on his shoulder. "Let him alone, Flick."

Angrily, Flick turned away from the black haired Turk, disregarding the smirk he knew was directed at his back. "I can't stand that kid…" he grumbled.

"You recruited Reno because you thought he needed a squad," Poke pointed out.

'That was _before_ he got high enough up the ladder to show what a total jerk he is."

"I like him," Poke disagreed. "He's got a good attitude."

"Yeah, I just _love _his; 'You're all alive only by my good graces. If it wasn't such a dreadful waste of lead, I'd have blown you all to bits a long time ago'. Good god, if I…"

"Shut up, Flick," Poke scolded.

"Oh, yes, do us all a favor," Vincent commented, kicking the back of Flick's seat. "Look, _Clancy_, stick boy's back!"

Flick whirled around, reaching for his nightstick to teach the younger Turk a lesson. "Listen, jackass, if you _ever _mention my real name in public again I'll…"

Vincent regarded him with an unconcerned expression. "You'd what? Hit me with your stick? I'd put my Quicksilver up against your…stick, any day."

"That's enough, Vince," Sketch cautioned, laying a hand on his friend's arm. "Lord knows, we can't all be gunslingers…"

"Some of us don't deserve to be. They carry sticks."

With a growl, Flick started to climb over the back of his seat to beat some sense into Vincent, but Poke yanked him back. "Down, boy! Look, my kid's coming out. I taught him myself, he's built like a brick wall."

Reluctantly, Flick turned back to the match. "What's yours named?"

"Rutford Kevins," Poke said proudly. "We just call him Rude though. He's a martial artist…well…sort of. Mostly he hits things."

Flick chuckled. "Well, here they go. I hope Reno doesn't hurt him too bad."

"Oh no. Rude's gonna pound your boy into a fine paste."

"Would you care to make a little wager on that?" Flick proposed.

"Would you care to shut up?" a quiet voice muttered behind him.

Flick whirled around again, raising his nightstick. "I'm gonna _kill_…"

"Hey! Coach, I'm down here!" Reno yelled indignantly. "Sheesh…" He turned back around as Flick returned his attention where it belonged. He grinned cockily at his opponent. "Hello, baldy."

The tall, well-built young man grunted and eyed Reno through his sunglasses, lifting his fists. "May the best man win."

"I intend to," Reno responded.

A bell sounded in the distance and almost immediately Reno found himself ducking a speedy punch to his head. "Shit! Whoa, boy, take it easy!" Leaping back a couple feet, out of his adversary's range, he considered the situation. He had a bit of an advantage in terms of the reach of his nightstick, as opposed to the limited reach of the bald man's fist. He spotted an opening and jolted his opponent quickly.

The taller man flinched and responded by landing a punch on Reno's shoulder.

"Dammit!" Reno backed off and massaged his arm.

"C'mon Reno! Kill 'im!" Flick howled.

"Finish him off Rude!" Poke encouraged.

The battle between the two new recruits was getting fast paced. Flick watched with baited breath as Reno took blow after blow, but didn't seem any closer to dropping the martial artist.

"Well, this got boring fast…" Vincent murmured sarcastically.

Flick turned around, once again wishing to knock some sense into the younger Turk. To his surprise and chagrin, Vincent suddenly laughed along with a collective gasp from the crowd. "Don't look now, Clancy, but I think your man is down…"

"Dammit!" Flick watched as Reno crumpled to the hard packed dirt floor of the arena.

"Well, it looks like that's over. Good show, Flick, maybe some other time," Poke teased good-naturedly. "Haul him up, Rude. Make sure you haven't killed him…"

Rude turned from the applauding crowd and hauled Reno up by his shirt collar. Flick sighed as his protégé was shaken like a rag doll. Suddenly, Reno's green eyes snapped open and, with a weak, but cocky grin at Rude, he gave him a healthy jolt with his nightstick.

Uttering a startled oath, Rude pushed Reno away, stumbled backwards, and collapsed. He looked up helplessly as Reno staggered to his feet and lifted his nightstick, preparing to finish Rude off.

"Told you…I was gonna…win…" Reno panted. He held his nightstick ready, but didn't bring it down. His weapon suddenly slipped from his fingers and he slumped forward to the ground with a groan.

The silence that had fallen over the arena erupted into applause.

"Yeah! Way to go Reno! How about that, Poke? They're partners like us!" Flick slapped his friend on the back and laughed.

Poke nodded. "Better go give 'em a hand."

"Gotcha." Flick trailed his friend down the stairs between the rows of seats and dropped to the floor of the arena where several paramedics had gathered.

"Nothing serious, sir," one of the men reported, peeling back one of Reno's eyelids. "Just a mild concussion on Reno's part and a bit of paralysis for Rude. Good show, I guess they're partners now, huh?"

Flick nodded, kneeling down beside Reno. "Hey, kid? C'mon, Reno, wake up…"

Reno groaned weakly as Flick shook his shoulder. "&%$#... "

Flick laughed. "That's the spirit. Good effort, Reno, very good effort…"

"Sorry…I couldn't beat him coach…" Reno mumbled. "He hits too &%#$ hard…"

"That's ok, Reno, you've got a thick skull." Flick rapped on Reno's forehead with his knuckles to demonstrate, causing his pupil to wince. "It's actually better that you _didn't_ win. Now you've got a partner."

"I've got what?"

"A partner. You can head down to the infirmary to get checked out and then come up and watch the rest of the matches." Flick helped Reno to his feet. "Excellent work, there'll be lots of leaders shooting to get you in their squads…"

"Goody." Reno rubbed his forehead and glanced over at his new partner who was being praised by Poke for the superior technique and performance in the match. "So, I guess we're gonna be partners, eh, baldy?" he joked, holding out his hand congenially.

"I guess so," Rude answered, ignoring Reno's gesture.

"I'm Reno, what's your name?"

"Rude."

"Heh. It suits you. So…what're your hobbies?" Reno tried again.

"Hitting people."

Reno nodded and laughed nervously. "But you aren't gonna be hitting me any more, are you?"

"We'll see."

Reno let himself be led down the hallway to a small infirmary where numerous young men in blue suits were recovering. Slightly anxious, Reno noted that a lot of them were people he'd electrocuted, back when his nightstick had been fully charged. "So…um…Rude, no hard feelings, right?"

"I suppose not."

Reno gratefully accepted an ice pack from a passing nurse, pressing it against his forehead and giving her a friendly squeeze. "Thanks, gorgeous. Say, after I feel a bit better, you wanna…"

"No," she sniffed. With a playful grin, she reached out and ran a hand over Rude's bald skull. "However…"

Rude remained emotionless. "No, thank you."

The nurse assumed a pouting expression and walked away leaving Reno looking incredulous. "Hey! How the hell…that…what do you have that I don't?"

Rude sighed and ran a hand over his head. "It's what I don't have."

"And you're upset about that?" Reno asked, absentmindedly toying with his ponytail.

Rude shrugged indifferently. "A girlfriend would be a burden."

Reno shook his head. "That's why you don't tie yourself down to any woman. My favorite line is 'I love you, but…'Really helps get me outta 'relationships'."

"I guess…"

"Well…are you feeling better? I wanna go watch the rest of the matches…are you coming?" Reno questioned, standing up.

"I suppose." Rude got up and stretched. "That stick of yours packs quite a punch."

"So does your fist," Reno chuckled. He headed for the door, but suddenly felt a hand grab him by the back of his jacket and pin him against the wall. There was a scream from the nurse and Reno found himself staring down the barrel of a handgun, held by one of his nightstick victims who'd unfortunately recovered quickly.

"Not so hot without your stick are you, jerk ass?" the gun wielder growled, turning Reno around and slamming him hard against the wall again, hand pressed against his throat. "I don't like losing…"

Angrily, Reno kicked at his adversary's shins, painfully aware of the fact that the man held him off the ground with ease. "Tough shit. I won, so suck it up."

Menacingly, the man tightened his hold around Reno's windpipe. "I don't wanna suck it up…"

Reno whimpered as he started to see stars. The nurse screamed again and the piercing noise made his head hurt. There was a grunt and a yell from his attacker as the gun was snatched from his hands and he was hauled backwards and tossed against the wall effortlessly, leaving cracks in the drywall.

Reno gasped and rubbed at his throat, looking up to see Rude tugging his metal knuckled gloves on tighter and glaring at the Turk who'd pulled a gun on Reno. "Hey…thanks, man…"

Rude shrugged and helped Reno to his feet. "We're partners. It wouldn't do for you to be shot on our first day."

"No, my friend, it wouldn't do at all." Reno grinned, deciding that he liked Rude, despite his reserved attitude.

--------------------------------------------

"Flick, I need to ask you a favor," Professor Gast said, ushering Flick into his office.

"Anything, Professor." Flick sat down in a chair and looked around fondly at Gast's office. There was a sort of homey clutter about it that Flick found rather heartwarming. "What can I do for you?"

"Well, it seems I've finally got an agent of my own," Gast said proudly. "I was wondering if you could recommend a squad for him."

"Congratulations, Gast." Flick accepted the cup of coffee Gast offered him. "I know you were getting sick of sharing Gunther with Hojo."

Gast made a face. "I'm getting sick of Hojo. I do like my new kid though."

"May I ask just who you snagged?" Flick questioned curiously.

With a smile, Gast handed him a file. "It was quite a struggle between me and Heidegger to get him. Probably one of the best this company has."

"Hmm…" Flick opened the file and nearly spat coffee all over it when he caught sight of the name at the top. "_Valentine?!_" he asked incredulously.

"I take it from your expression you're less than pleased?" Gast observed.

"Forgive me criticizing your judgement sir, but he's a stuck up, arrogant, anti-social, foul tempered jackass."

Gast chuckled. "I like him. He's very intelligent and I've never seen a better sniper. He's got a strange sort of magnitude about his presence. If you got to know him, I don't think you'd mind him…"

Flick made a small noise in the back of his throat, almost like a retching sound.

Gast clucked disapprovingly. "Come now. I don't care about your personal opinion. He's my Turk and he needs a squad. Now do you have any suggestions?"

Flick closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. "Offhand I can't think of…" A wicked idea suddenly came to him. "Unless…" Reno was perfect. Reno was loud and obnoxious and extremely irritating when he put his mind to it. Precisely the sort of person who would get under Vincent's skin. Rude would cause Vincent problems too. Rude didn't listen unless he liked the orders he was given. "Well…it's a wrench to give him up, but I think Reno would do excellently with…Valentine. Plus he's just gotten a partner so there'd be a complete squad with the three of them…"

"You think so?" Gast asked, smiling. "Very good. I'll call him up here and discuss the arrangements."

"Oh, I'll go get him, Professor. A phone call is a very impersonal way of dealing with these situations."

"Would you Flick? That would be great. Tell him to get up here, post haste." Gast shuffled some papers on his desk as Flick slipped out into the hallway. Once out of sight he grinned widely and chuckled to himself. He hurried down to the lounge on the lower floor and looked around for Vincent and his two friends. Spotting him, he walked over to where the younger Turk was eating lunch with Trigger and Sketch. "Valentine!"

"Oh god…" Vincent muttered. "Keep him away from me."

"Vincent, calm down," Sketch said worriedly, noticing his friend's fingers twitch.

"You know that any time he comes within ten feet of me the urge to blow his head off is near overwhelming?"

Trigger sighed. "Yeah, we know."

"Good afternoon, all," Flick said grinning as he approached the table. "And how are we today?"

Vincent gritted his teeth and didn't answer, clenching his hands and trying not to let his eyes slip to the holster at his waist. "We were just leaving."

"Gast needs to talk to you."

"So why didn't he phone me? Oh, I get it. You've finally found your _true_ calling. I'm sure you'll be an excellent messenger boy."

Flick smirked. "Nothing doing, Valentine. I'm still a Turk, and I'm still a level higher than you…"

Vincent smiled. "_That_ is where you're wrong." He pulled out a card. "Second class. Got the notice today. Isn't that wonderful?"

Flick narrowed his eyes. "How did _you_ make it to Second Class?"

"You see, there's this thing called 'talent'. I know it's probably an unfamiliar concept to you, but some of us are actually _good_ at what we do."

"Shut up. Your master summons."

Vincent stood up and gave Flick a cold glare. "I realize that. I'll give him your regards."

"Do," Flick answered, tone equally frosty.

Vincent headed away from his friends, making for Gast's office. He knocked lightly on the door. "Professor Gast?"

"Come in, my boy," Gast called.

"You wanted to see me, sir?" Vincent entered the office and sat down across from Gast.

"Well obviously," Gast smiled.

"You seem in a good mood…if I may, sir, when you send a messenger for me, _please_ make sure it isn't Flick," Vincent grumbled. "Lord knows, this company loses enough operatives in the field without my making matters worse."

"Cheer up. I've got some good news for you…"

"Flick's been demoted? Oh, good show. May I have him in my squad? I'd simply love to boss the moron around. I'll just have to take to wearing a bulletproof vest. Of course, I'd feel simply awful if the poor bastard was shot while on a mission with me. Funny how that happens. You'd be shocked at the number of operatives who are shot in the back."

Gast sighed. "Please be civil. It's bad for my reputation to have a snarling, bad tempered beast for an operative."

"I'm not a _beast_," Vincent protested. "Is that all you wanted to see me about?"

"I've got some news for you." Gast smiled again.

"Oh, do tell."

Gast rolled his eyes. "You've got a squad."

"I don't need a squad."

"My god. Flick is right, you _are_ arrogant…"

"So you've been gossiping about me? I'm hurt, Gast," Vincent assumed an injured expression.

"Stop that. Your recruits are Charles Reno and Rutford Kevins."

"No."

Gast frowned. "Yes. I'm afraid you don't get a say."

"I don't _want_ either of them!"

"I care very little about what you want."

Vincent's eyes narrowed. "This was Flick's idea, wasn't it?"

"He may have influenced the decision."

Vincent groaned. "Gast, this isn't fair…"

Gast laid a sympathetic hand on Vincent's shoulder. "I suggest you go get ready, I've a mission for you."

--------------------------------------------

Reno jumped a little as his cell phone rang. Rude gave him an odd look over the book he was reading then shrugged. Hesitantly, Reno answered the ringing device. "Hello?…Hi, Professor…We are?…You do?…When?…Now?…This is awfully sudden, sir…may I ask who?…oh sh—I'm mean, sorry, sir…we'll be right there. Helipad B? See you soon…" Reno hung up his phone.

"What was that all about?" Rude asked.

"We've got a squad leader," Reno said numbly. "We're going on our first mission."

"Really? Who is it? Where're we going?"

"It's…ok, you know that really stern, really scary young guy who just made Second Class?"

"Valentine?" Rude supplied.

"Yeah, him. Anyway, he's our squad leader."

"Dear god. He's supposed to be really tough…"

"We're headed up to Icicle. Gast wants us to pick up this girl named Iflana."

Rude shrugged. "Whatever. We've both had lessons in kidnapping before."

"I guess…but never with a psychotic squad leader…apparently, Turks aren't the most popular in Icicle right now, so we're to exercise caution." Reno got to his feet. "We better head up; don't want to be late for our first mission."

About five minutes later, Reno and Rude had arrived at the second helicopter pad and were waiting for Vincent to arrive. Just as Reno was about to suggest they call their new boss, a tall figure came onto the roof of the building. Reno and Rude both saluted smartly.

"Let's get this over with." Vincent climbed into the waiting helicopter. "Hurry up."

"Yes, sir." Reno climbed into the helicopter dutifully, sitting across from Vincent as the older Turk had stretched his long legs out across the two seats beside and gave him a look that blatantly said it wasn't a matter to be debated.

"So…umm…Vincent, what're…"

"Don't talk to me."

With a sigh, Reno decided it would be a long trip.

--------------------------------------------

The trio climbed out of the helicopter about half a mile out of Icicle. Vincent had pretty much sat in sullen silence for the majority of the trip, only speaking when he gunned down Reno's attempts to make conversation. As Reno had predicted, it had been a _very _long trip. He'd read the mission statement numerous times and once or twice backwards, skipping words to see if there was a hidden message in the report. It was close to suppertime in Midgar, but nearly midnight in Icicle.

"Now what?" Reno ventured hesitantly.

"We find an inn. If there's one that will take us. Icicle and Midgar are at odds right now, and it is slightly less than safe for us to be here."

Reno sighed. "Why is it so &$%$ cold up here?"

Vincent turned to him with a patient expression. "Because this is Icicle. And when one is in Icicle it is proper protocol to freeze one's ass off."

Reno laughed. "Yeah, whatever. Let's get going, man. I'm freezing. Aren't you cold, Rude?"

Rude shrugged and followed Vincent as the dark haired Turk made his way towards the glowing lights in the distance, the town of Icicle Inn.

With a sigh and a shiver, Reno followed his two comrades, irritated at Vincent's resolute attitude and Rude's seemingly unfrozen ass. "Hey, wait up guys!"

After about ten minutes of walking against bitter cold and wind, the three Turks arrived in Icicle. The town was dark and seemed devoid of human activity; the only lights glowing feebly through frosted windows. Reno thought the town looked a lot like a Christmas card, and he could just imagine rosy-cheeked children romping through the snow with yappy dogs at their heels and mothers watching from the windows with trays of Christmas cookies in oven-mittened hands.

"Where's the inn?" Reno asked through chattering teeth.

Vincent pointed at a two story building with a sign hanging over the doorway, near impossible to read as it banged up and down in the wind. "I sure hope we can get in."

"What happens if we don't?" Rude asked.

"Then we freeze to death," Vincent responded nonchalantly.

"Oh. I hope we get in too."

Vincent just nodded and opened the door to the warmth and light of the inn. The interior was warm and cheery, resembling a ski lodge where various residents and visitors to the town sat around; chatting amiably and sipping hot chocolate. There was a bar at one end of the room with a sign reading, "Check in here" as well as a fireplace opposite it, surrounded by sofas, loveseats, and armchairs, all of which were occupied by cuddling couples or laughing singles.

"Shut the door, friend, you're letting in the cold!" the man at the counter called. "Well, come in, get yourselves warm! Everyone's welcome at Icicle Inn!"

The look in Vincent's eyes was cynical as he stepped into the light and shook the snow from his midnight black hair. Reno and Rude flanked their boss, slightly relaxed and not really expecting trouble from a bunch of skiers.

A silence fell over the common room. The fire cracked loudly and Reno could hear that everyone in the room was holding their breath. Several of the men glared darkly at the Turks and the innkeeper's eyes flickered to a rifle resting over the mantle.

Vincent chuckled darkly. "Don't even think about it." He opened his jacket to reveal the mother-of-pearl handle of a pistol at his side. "How many people do you think we could kill before you even reached that gun?"

There was an anxious murmur through the crowd. Whispers of "bastard", "jackass", and other, less pleasant names were heard.

Vincent laughed again. "You're all very lucky we don't feel like trouble tonight. All _I_ really want is a place to sleep. What about you Rude?"

Reno could feel Rude tense upon be addressed by his superior. He watched as his partner nodded his agreement. "Yeah, a bed would be nice."

"Reno?"

Reno smiled wickedly. "Sure. I don't feel like sleep right straight off though. Perhaps there's a little ski bunny to keep me warm?"

Vincent gave him a look that clearly said, "Don't push it" and turned to survey the crowd. "Are there any objections to my squad and I staying here?"

The people gathered in the lodge muttered their dissent and an incensed man with a red face to match his sweater stood up, a snifter of brandy in one hand. "You sure as hell bet there are objections!"

"Icicle Inn will not house a bunch of murderers!" a woman agreed, standing up beside the other man.

There was a roar of agreement from the crowd.

Reno watched Vincent draw his gun and for a fleeting second, felt a knot of fear in his stomach. He'd seen people killed before. He'd watched several of his classmates be shot early on, because they refused to submit to the rules. For some reason, that had seemed more like justice, even if it had made him feel sick the first few times. Reno felt it would be seriously wrong for his superior to shoot a rowdy, though innocent, bystander.

His fears were alleviated as Vincent turned and fired a bullet through the window, shattering the glass pane. There were a couple screams and shouts from the crowd and a fearful silence fell again, except for the icy wind that shrieked through the smashed window. The gale blew Vincent's short dark hair around and tugged at Reno's ponytail. All eyes were rooted on the Turk with the handgun and his deathly serious expression.

"Are we all through with that little demonstration?" Vincent asked, coldly polite, brown eyes scanning the crowd challengingly.

There was a sullen silence.

"Thank you." Vincent walked up to the counter, turning his back on the crowd, almost daring one of them to attack. He threw a crisp red bill on the counter, five hundred Gil.

The innkeeper growled and turned to make change from the till, but Vincent stopped him.

"Keep the extra four hundred. Lord knows, we don't need it." Reno couldn't help but admire the way Vincent composed himself among his enemies. There was something about his manner that didn't seem quite cocky or brash, but made the statement of invincibility.

The clerk's eyes narrowed. "Icicle Inn doesn't need the bloodstained charity of Shinra," he spat, jamming four crumpled bills into Vincent's hand.

With a low chuckle, Vincent slipped the money into his pocket. "Town pride. How…quaint. We'll be up in our room if you need us." He lightly took the keys from the innkeeper's outstretched palm and ushered Reno and Rude up the stairs. As he followed, a brandy glass smashed against the wall of the stairwell where he'd been standing moments earlier. There was a pause and then a gunshot as the second window in the lobby of the inn shattered, letting the icy wind in with stronger force.

--------------------------------------------

Reno lay awake in bed, staring at the ceiling. He could hear Rude's heavy breathing and Vincent's lighter, slightly more rapid inhalation. He tensed, imagining he heard a noise in the hallway. Reno turned his head to the side as he heard a slight rustling from Vincent's bed in the far corner of the room. The dark haired Turk had rolled out of bed and was crouched on the floor with his gun in hand.

There were low voices from outside the room and a grating of a key in the lock. Vincent had insisted that the door be bolted. Reno thought he was paranoid, but decided that maybe he had right to be. He saw a sliver of light as the door opened a crack and caught sight of Vincent, slipping into the shadows. He watched, as the innkeeper entered the room, holding a pair of keys in one hand and a kitchen knife in the other. Reno watched, silent, as the man crept up to Vincent's bed where a pile of sheets had been cleverly arranged to look like a body.

Trembling, the man lifted the knife and with a sharp intake of breath, rammed it into the bed. He drew it back out, looking confused at the lack of blood, when a horrible realization dawned on him, too late. Vincent clapped a hand over the innkeeper's mouth and pressed the barrel of his gun lightly against the man's temple. "That was a very bad idea, wasn't it?"

The innkeeper gave a little squeak as Vincent relieved him of his keys.

"I thought so too. We aren't going to be trying that again for a while now, are we?"

Whimpering as Vincent's gun made its way between his eyes, the innkeeper shook his head.

"Good. Now, we're going to go inform your murderous gang of friends of the situation." Reno heard the sound of the innkeeper's heavily stumbling footsteps, and Vincent's lighter tread and then the door squeaked open. "Good evening, my dear gentlemen…and ladies? Dear me, you _are_ a bloodthirsty crowd aren't you?"

"Let him go!" a voice hissed.

Reno heard Vincent laugh softly. "I don't think so. Not right yet, at least. To be honest, I didn't really appreciate this little attempt on my life. I prefer my fights with a gun, when I know who I'm shooting." There was a suggestive click as he flicked the safety off his weapon.

Reno rolled his eyes in disgust when he actually heard the innkeeper start weeping softly.

"None of you people have killed anyone, correct?"

From the lack of response, Reno took it that the crowd hadn't and were shaking their heads in disagreement.

"I didn't think you had. It's not an easy thing to do, but if you practice, you'll get better."

"And how many people have you slaughtered?" one of the audience asked with contempt.

"Enough to feel little remorse if I were to decide to shoot you dead," came the flat response. "I'm tired. The only reason I haven't inserted a bullet into the brain of your murderous friend here is the gunshot would wake my squad and they need their rest. And so, without further ado, I bid you goodnight, my dear people. Let's all try to get some sleep."

There was a crashing noise as Vincent roughly hurled the innkeeper out into the hallway and shut the door, locking it. Reno heard him lie back in bed with a heavy sigh. "Vincent?"

"What?" he responded tersely.

"That was cool," Reno couldn't help but comment.

"Shut up, Reno."

--------------------------------------------

The next day dawned bright and clear and Reno awoke to Rude shaking his shoulder.

"Get up, Reno," the bald man ordered.

"Yeah, yeah…" Reno swung his legs over the side of the bed and stretched. Absently, he ran his fingers through his hair. His suit was extremely rumpled and he liked it that way. Within the month that he'd been a part of the Turks, he'd managed to get the various dark blue suits that he owned into a state where the fabric was looser and didn't feel as restrictive. He'd noted that sleeping in his clothes often helped break them in faster. "Where's Vincent?"

Rude shrugged. "I don't know. He was gone when I got up…Did you hear him last night?"

Reno whistled. "You bet I did. He's really…good at what he does, isn't he?"

"Yeah."

There was a light knock on the door and Reno stood up. "Who's there?"

"Open the goddamn door before I blow the handle off."

Reno glanced at the clock by his bed. "If you're the wake up call then you're late, it's quarter to nine already."

There was a muffled gunshot and the wood around the door handle splintered. Reno was a little shocked at the size of the hole that was left. A hand wearing a black leather glove with open fingertips slipped in and turned the handle from the inside.

"Well, come on in!" Reno called.

Vincent entered the room with a glare at Reno. "Don't try to be funny. We're on a tight schedule right now."

"Where have you been? Went to breakfast without us? I thought better of you, sir…I'm really very hungry."

"_Do _try and be strong," Vincent instructed sarcastically. "Do you know what the mission is?"

Reno snorted. "Of course we know what the mission is. Gast told us. We're kidnapping this girl named Iflana. Sounds easy. Did you find out where she lives?"

Vincent nodded. "We go now. And keep in mind that 'easy' is never good."

"Now? Do you even know how we're supposed to kidnap her?"

"Gast doesn't want her hurt. We're supposed to be…diplomatic about it."

Rude smiled. "Not your strong suit, is it, sir?"

To Reno's extreme surprise, Vincent returned Rude's smile. "No, not really."

"Well, let's go." Reno turned to go out the front door, but was caught off guard by an icy blast of wind from the window that Vincent had opened. "Sir?"

"I wouldn't recommend going through there. There's a bit of a bloodthirsty mob in the lobby with hunting rifles and snow shovels, just _itching _to spill some Shinran blood." Vincent jumped lightly out the window into the alley behind the hotel, a good fifteen-foot drop.

Reno looked at Rude. "He's not serious?"

"Guess so," his partner responded as he followed Vincent.

With a sigh, Reno slipped out the window, managing to break his fall by landing on Rude.

"%$#!" Rude swore, shoving Reno off, while Vincent clapped a hand to his forehead in disapproval.

"I can't take you two anywhere," he muttered, exiting the alley.

"Hey, wait up!" Reno scrambled after his boss, with Rude close behind. "So where does this woman live?"

Vincent didn't answer and instead pointed to a squat building near the entrance of the town.

"Oh…ok, is she expecting us?"

"Do you ever expect kidnappers?" Vincent asked rhetorically.

"I guess not…" Reno felt a little guilty as they approached the front door. He didn't think it was quite right to be kidnapping an innocent young woman, just because Gast wanted her. He sighed as Vincent stepped onto the stairs leading up to the front door, but it was open before he even lifted his hand to knock.

"Hello, boys," a pleasant voiced woman greeted them. She wore a long pink dress with an apron over top and had auburn hair, swept back from her face. Despite her age and the climate, there was a light sprinkling of freckles on the bridge of her nose that gave her a girlish appearance even though she looked to be in her early-thirties. "Would you like to come in?"

Reno could see even Vincent was taken aback by her polite manner and courteous invitation. _"It's like she knew we were coming…"_

"Oh, do come in. I've just baked some cookies and put water on for tea." Without hesitation, she reached out and took Vincent by the arm, pulling him inside with surprising ease.

Finally recovering his composure, Vincent shook off her hand. "Ma'am, to be honest, we've come to discuss…"

Iflana waved her hand. "No, no, dear boy, business comes later. We'll have something to eat first."

"Ms. Gainsborough, our orders…"

"Oh, bother your orders. I shan't even listen to you unless you come in for tea."

Reno hesitated. "If my opinion counts for anything, ma'am, I'm starved and it smells _really_ good in here."

There was a distinct clash between the stormy glare Vincent cast at him and the sunny smile Iflana offered, so Reno concentrated on Iflana. "What a nice boy you are," she gushed. "Please come sit down. Your friends too."

"Ma'am, we really shouldn't…" Vincent began again.

"Oh, hush." She reached out and took Vincent by the hand, grabbing Rude's arm with the other and ushered the trio into her living room. She directed Reno to a large, overstuffed pink armchair and Rude to a couch along the wall, finally placing her hands on Vincent's shoulders and forcing him to sit beside Rude. "Now, sit tight, I'll be right back." Iflana bustled out of the room, leaving Rude to get comfortable in his spot and Vincent glaring at Reno.

"_You_," he grumbled, "are the biggest moron I've ever met in my life."

Reno balked. "Shut up. She's a nice lady. I don't think we should be kidnapping such a nice lady. I think we should ask her if we can work out a deal or something."

"I don't care if she's Shinra's wife. Our orders are…"

"There you go again with _orders_," Iflana teased, entering the living room with a tray of tea and cookies. "Live a little bit of your life outside a suit, Mr. Valentine."

Vincent didn't answer and Reno could tell he was trying to think of another angle to approach the problem with. "So…Ms. Gainsborough, what…"

"Please, just call me Iflana, Reno," she requested, handing him a cup of tea.

Reno smiled. "All right…Iflana. How do you know my name? And how did you know Vincent's?"

"I know a lot of things," Iflana answered. "Actually, I think I recall one piece of information that would be of _great _interest to you, Reno."

"Really?" Reno asked, arching an eyebrow.

"Oh yes. You see, several months back, a young woman came through here…well, not young exactly, about my age really, perhaps older…she _looked _young…"

"Ms. Gainsborough, I'm twenty-four and I hardly consider myself old, " Reno interrupted playfully.

Iflana laughed. "Oh, you're a charmer. Anyway, this young lady…what was her name…she was a sweet thing, a nun…"

"Lisa! Really? She was here?" Reno asked excitedly.

"A _nun_, Reno?" Vincent asked disdainfully. "My god, you _are _a…"

Reno glared at his superior with an expression that shut even Vincent up. "How was she, Iflana? God…it's been years since I've seen her…"

"She was fine. In perfect health," Iflana declared. "Such a bright and cheerful young thing, brilliant with children."

"Yeah…" Reno agreed, suddenly feeling an immense pang of longing for his old friend. "I'd…kinda like to see her again…"

"Only, 'kinda'?" Iflana asked gently, laying a hand on Reno's. For a few moments, the room seemed empty, except for him and Iflana. She had a very understanding presence and Reno felt slightly comforted.

"I don't think she'd be proud of me…"

Iflana smiled. "She doesn't seem like the sort of person who would judge what you've chosen to do with your life. I know you're not a bad person."

The room suddenly seemed to jerk back to life as Rude sneezed and blinked quickly. "Wha…? Sorry, I kinda spaced out…"

"S'ok," Reno nodded, thankful that his friend hadn't heard any of the exchange. He glanced over at Vincent, wondering why he hadn't made any caustic remarks, only to find the older Turk gazing at nothing in particular with a distant expression.

Iflana chuckled, reaching out and touching his shoulder. Vincent started. "What? Ms. Gainsborough, we really need to discuss…"

"Shush. We'll talk after these boys help me get the kitchen cleaned up a bit." Iflana stood up, glancing at Vincent with innocent eyes. "I don't suppose you'd care to help?"

Reno winced as he met her gaze coldly. "No. I wouldn't."

Iflana shrugged. "Suit yourself." She smiled. "No pun intended. Reno, Rutford, would you two mind helping me with these dishes?"

Reno obediently picked up a couple plates and a teacup, turning to Rude. _"Rutford?" _he mouthed when Iflana had turned her back.

"Don't be mean, _Charles_," Iflana scolded over her shoulder, walking to the kitchen with the pair in tow.

Once in the kitchen, Reno put his dishes on the counter and scuffed his feet awkwardly. "Umm…Iflana, about Vincent…I'm sorry about him. He's just…ignore him. He can be a real jerk when he puts his mind to it…"

"I understand, dear." Iflana picked up some of the plates and cups and put them in a sink of hot, soapy water. She paused, wiping a dish with one hand and handing it to Rude who waited with a dishcloth. "He's very drawn in on himself, isn't he?"

"Vincent? Yeah, I guess…I haven't really known him that long…"

"Oh. So I suppose you don't know if anything's happened to make him the way he is?"

"Maybe. He doesn't really have many friends, I don't think. Except two guys I think he's known for a while…Trigger and…"

"Sketch," Rude supplied.

"Yeah. Anyway, he just keeps to himself."

"Interesting…what about you Rude?" Iflana asked.

Reno suddenly found himself utterly fascinated by a spot on Iflana's wall. It was sort of a blob, about half an inch in diameter, and darkish brown in color. He wondered what it was, where it had come from. Whether it had always been there, or if it was something that Iflana had caused. He decided it was a rather nice spot; it gave Iflana's kitchen a rather homey, lived in sort of touch. When he got an apartment of his own, he decided he'd get a spot like Iflana's, just to…

"Reno? Hey, Reno? Charles?"

Reno blinked. "Shut up, Rude."

"Whatever you say, Chuckles."

Iflana laughed. "Oh, you two are treasures."

"Yeah. Real diamonds in the rough," Reno agreed. "Umm…we should probably get going. I know Vincent isn't the most congenial, but he's right, we do have a schedule. Maybe…you should go talk to him. Me and Rude don't really know the story…"

"Yeah. We'll finish up in here," Rude offered.

"Thank you." Iflana slipped off her apron and hung it on the handle of one of the cupboards. She slipped out of the kitchen, leaving Reno and Rude to finish stacking plates.

"I like her, she's nice," Reno declared, dusting off his hands. "I wonder what she'll say to Vincent…"

"Yeah…" Rude agreed. "Oh well."

Reno looked at him incredulously. "What do you mean 'oh well'? I'm gonna go listen in!"

Rude frowned. "I don't think that's a good idea. There's something about her…"

"You think she's a witch or something?" Reno joked.

"I dunno…"

"I'm gonna go listen…If Iflana turns me into a frog could you keep me in a tank or something?"

Rude rolled his eyes as Reno went to crouch at the kitchen door, straining to catch hints of the conversation in the next room. He managed to position himself so he could see both Iflana and Vincent.

"So, Mr. Valentine, what was it you wished to ask me?" Iflana asked pleasantly.

"I have orders to bring you to the Shinra headquarters," Vincent said bluntly.

"Do you really? That's quite a shame, dear. I'm happy where I am."

"It's not my decision. I'm under orders not to leave unless you're in custody."

"I see…Perhaps a compromise?"

"These orders are non-negotiable."

"Orders, orders, orders. Can't you think for yourself?"

Vincent didn't answer.

"Come now." Iflana reached out and laid a hand on Vincent's. "You can't be more than twenty five, but beneath the hardness, your eyes are more sorrowful than any I've seen, even in those twice your age."

"I…" Reno could hear a note of humanity in Vincent's voice, but it hardened quickly. "Stop it. I don't know what you're doing, but stop it."

"I'm not doing anything," Iflana answered quietly. "Why do you shut everyone out?"

"I asked you to stop."

"Just answer me that. What has happened? I can't tell for myself, you won't let me. You could take a lesson from your two charges and open up a bit."

"Leave me alone."

"Fine." Iflana reached out and laid a hand on his cheek. "I lied when I said I couldn't find out for myself." She met Vincent's brown eyes with her green ones, searching his impassive expression. Suddenly her eyes filled with tears and she looked away. "Oh…oh, Vincent…it wasn't your fault…"

Vincent flinched visibly. "Stop it. I'm going to call Gast and see if he won't come up here." He left the room quickly, stepping outside where he could get better reception from his cell phone.

With a heavy sigh, Iflana watched him go, drying her eyes on her sleeve. "Come in, Reno, Rude. I know you're watching."

Guiltily, Reno stepped all the way into the living room. "Iflana, what was that about?"

She sighed again. "That poor boy. Oh…Reno, don't blame him for the way he acts. He's not much older than you and he's been hurt even worse…this isn't his path. You'll understand someday."

Reno had no idea what she was talking about, but he smiled reassuringly anyway. "Ok. So what's the decision going to be, do you know?"

"Gast will be coming up here to live with me," Iflana answered. "It'll be difficult at first, but I think we'll get used to each other."

The door opened and Vincent entered. "Gast will be coming to live with Iflana," he stated, emotionlessly. "We're heading back now."

Reno nodded and smiled at Iflana as she stood up. "Thanks for having us stay, Iflana…if Lisa comes back, tell her I was here…"

"I promise I will, Reno." She turned to Rude with a smile. "You take care of yourself, ok? Remember what I told you."

Rude nodded. "I will, Iflana."

"Good." With a slightly sadder smile she walked up to Vincent. "I know it seems hard, but you aren't really alone." On impulse she gently hugged him, expression growing worried as she drew back. "Be…be careful when you're leaving town…" she warned hesitantly.

Vincent didn't answer and exited the house into the now darkened streets of Icicle. It hadn't seemed like a lot of time had passed, but it was already past sunset. Reno and Rude hung back a bit, letting Vincent walk a good ten or fifteen feet in front of them.

"I wonder what Iflana was talking about…" Reno mused.

Rude shrugged. "I don't know."

"Yes, Rude, I realize that," Reno said sarcastically. "Hey! Hey, Vincent, where's the chopper picking us up?"

"About a mile further away than where it dropped us off yesterday."

Reno jogged to catch up with his superior with Rude close behind. "How do you know?"

"We were contacted this morning."

"Oh." Reno kicked at a clump of snow. "It's kinda nice up here, isn't it?"

"In comparison to what?"

"Umm…I don't know…it's just sort of a Christmassy atmosphere," Reno explained.

"It's _always _Christmas at Icicle Inn," a voice called from behind. "Hold up, gentlemen."

Reno stopped in his tracks. Rude did too, but Vincent kept walking. "Who's there?"

"Shut up, you're outnumbered," another voice growled. Reno realized it was the innkeeper's harsh rasp. Obviously, he wasn't over the previous night. "Tell your friend to stop where he is."

Vincent stopped, but didn't turn around. "Is that who I think it is?" he asked, addressing Reno and Rude as he folded his arms across his chest.

"Depends who you think it is," Reno joked nervously.

"It's the innkeeper from last night," Rude added. "With a posse of friends, no doubt."

"Shut up," the innkeeper repeated. "Turn around, all of you, slowly. And keep your hands up."

Reno and Rude slowly pivoted to face the crowd of about twenty who had followed them to the outskirts of the city. Painfully, Reno realized that Vincent was still stubbornly facing the other way.

"How many?" Reno heard him ask.

"Twenty or so," Rude responded. "You better turn around."

"Listen to your comrades, buddy. We don't really feel like shooting you, but it's more than trash from Shinra like you deserve…"

Reno winced and watched several of the mob drew rifles and loaded them ominously. "Umm…Vincent, maybe it's not such a bad idea for you to turn around…"

"Come on now, you're only going to make it harder for yourself. We're not looking to _kill _the three of you, just to make an example out of what Shinra gets for sending it's hired guns up here," the innkeeper cajoled mockingly.

Reno felt extremely nervous as he heard Vincent chuckle softly. "Correction. Only one of us is a hired gun." With the last words, he spun around, unloading ammo into the startled crowd of attackers, firing as fast as his gun would allow.

"Jesus _Christ_!" Reno yelled, ignoring the bullets that whizzed past him, both coming and going, and launching himself into the fray with Rude, concentrating on attackers with clubs and the odd snow shovel.

He suddenly found himself face to face with the innkeeper and lifted his nightstick to deal the man a heavy blow, but his target suddenly stumbled back, blood erupting from a hole in the front of his parka. Reno gritted his teeth at the gruesome wound and turned to find a new opponent. He winced as he deflected a snow shovel that had been bound for his skull to land the blow on his shoulder.

"Ok, Reno?" Rude yelled, ramming his fist into the fleshy stomach of one of his assailants.

"Yeah, yeah…" Reno ducked blows, weaving amidst the bodies sprawled on Icicle's snowy streets. Above the screams and battle cries, a sharp staccato of gunshots echoed. For a few moments, Reno didn't notice that it had stopped. He glanced around quickly, in the few moments he had between opponents and saw that most of the rifle wielders had been felled, mostly by gunshots from Vincent. Out of the blue, he found his opponent was gone and stillness had returned to Icicle's streets.

"C'mon Reno," Rude grabbed his arm and took off at a moderate run after Vincent, who was a good ways ahead already.

"Where'd they go?" he asked stupidly.

"Took off. We got about half of them."

"Oh." Reno kept running, glancing back over his shoulder before Icicle disappeared in the fringe of trees that made up the forest they'd retreated into. After about five more minutes of running, Rude finally slowed down. There was no sign of Vincent in the dense forest.

Reno leaned against a tree and tried to slow the pulse of adrenaline through his veins. "That was intense…"

Rude nodded. "He's a real firebrand, isn't he? I mean when he gets in fights, not the rest of the time."

"Yeah…damn good shot too. I feel totally outclassed." Reno glanced around. "Where'd he get to anyway?"

"Umm…I don't know…" Rude pointed of to where a set of footprints seemed to lead deeper into the forest. "That way?"

"I guess. Better get after him." Reno followed Rude as he made his way through the trees. He glanced at the ground, and nonchalantly noticed a blood stain on the ground. He did a quick double take. "Rude!"

"What?" Rude looked where Reno was pointing. "Vincent?"

"Shit, I hope he isn't hurt bad…maybe this is what Iflana was warning us about."

"Most definitely," Rude nodded. "We should find him."

"Well, duh." Reno hurried ahead, following occasional spots of blood that were splattered along the pathway every few feet. "Hey, Vincent!" he called as he entered a clearing, to see his superior, leaning weakly against a tree with his hand pressed to his right shoulder. "Hey, are you ok?"

"I'm fine."

"No, you aren't. The rule is never let the_ enemy_ see you bleed." Reno noticed that there was a slightly ominous red tint to his superior's eyes.

With an angry glare, Vincent pushed away from the tree and wiped his bloody hand on the leg of his pants. "Don't question my orders."

"That wasn't an order," Reno took a few steps forward, freezing when Vincent trained a gun on his chest. "Hey! Whoa, man, that's not cool…"

"Back off."

Rude entered the clearing a few steps behind Reno. Seeing his best friend about to be shot, he did the only predictable thing and melted back into the forest.

_"Dammit, dammit, dammit, dammit…"_ Reno's mind raced, as he backed a few more steps away. "Listen, Vincent, if you're hurt…"

"I don't need your help."

"C'mon, we could go back to Iflana's…I know she'd help you…" Tentatively, Reno advanced a few more feet.

"I thought I told you to back off."

"What the hell is your problem?" Reno demanded, immensely irritated with Vincent. "Was it what Iflana was saying?"

Reno immediately regretted his comment as the safety came off Vincent's weapon and he took a few steps forward. "Leave me alone."

_"Ok, there are two ways this can go. I press the issue and get shot, or I leave him alone to bleed to death." _ Reno started to back away. "All right. I'm going. What do you want me to tell HQ so they send someone to collect your frozen corpse?"

At that point three different things happened almost simultaneously. First, Reno realized just how stupid it was to make snide remarks to a gun-wielding psycho with a severe injury. Second, Vincent fired a shot that might have been aimed for him, but he never got the chance to find out as at the precise moment, the third event took place. Rude leapt out of the forest in a flying tackle, hitting Vincent in the back and knocking him to the ground with ease. The bullet buried itself in the wood of a pine tree behind Reno and the gun flew from Vincent's hands, skittering to a halt at his feet.

"Shit…" Reno breathed, picking up the gun and glancing at Rude. "Thanks."

Rude grunted and twisted Vincent's arms behind his back, pinning his boss to the ground easily. "No problem. What's with him?"

"Hey, careful…" Reno stuffed the handgun in his belt, kneeling beside his friend. "I think he's hurt pretty bad."

"Hmm. Well, he's Red Mako, isn't he? You never know what to expect with those type." Rude carefully pulled Vincent from the ground, half propping him against a tree. "Mind you, you were sorta baiting him…"

"I was not!" Reno protested indignantly. "At least I didn't tackle him…you probably hurt him even worse and now we're gonna have to drag him everywhere, because he's out cold."

Rude cleared his throat a bit guiltily. "Yeah, well…"

"Oh…god…" Vincent mumbled, lifting a bloodstained hand to his forehead. "What…"

"Take it easy," Reno scolded. "God, you're a moron, you know that?"

"Shut…up…"

With a sigh, Reno shoved him back down, holding him easily. "Where's the chopper?"

"Go to hell."

"Listen, you're hurt pretty bad and we need to get back to Shinra," Reno explained. "C'mon, d'you wanna die or something?"

Vincent was silent for a moment. "All right, fine."

"Good, that's a good start," Reno encouraged, standing up and helping Vincent to his feet. "Which way to we go from here?"

With a sharp gasp, Vincent reached into the left front pocket of his jacket, pulling out a cell phone. He pressed a button on the front and the screen lit up, emitting a greenish light and a vague map of the surrounding area. There were two pulsing black spots on the screen. The first was blinking rapidly and was to the right of the other one. "We're on the left. Head straight east and you'll hit the chopper…"

"Oh, ok good." Reno grinned. "Hey, thanks for not shooting me."

"I'll get you next time." Vincent's hand slipped to his side holster. "Where's my gun?"

Rude glanced nervously at Reno.

With a casual shrug, Reno patted his belt. "I'll hang onto it for now, as promise of your continued good behavior."

"Good behavior?"

Reno caught the dangerous undertone of Vincent's voice. "Yeah. And if you're bad, you can't have it back."

"I'm going to kill you."

Reno wasn't entirely sure whether or not his boss was joking. "Heh…right…" He cleared his throat nervously. "Umm…so…we're off then…"

--------------------------------------------

An hour later, Reno was slouched in the seat of the helicopter, trying to sleep above the beating of the helicopter blades. With a sigh, he glanced over at Rude who was thumbing through a paperback manual on what he could expect if the helicopter were to crash. Vincent was asleep, still bleeding from his shoulder, but it had slowed to the point where it didn't merit concern. _"Unless," _Reno speculated, _"he's running out of blood to bleed, which could be bad."_

Mildly anxious, he reached over and jabbed a finger into Vincent's shoulder. He was slightly relieved when his boss's brown eyes snapped open. "What?"

"Sorry, thought you'd died," Reno said cheerfully. "Just checking."

"Go to hell." Vincent closed his eyes again and ignored Reno.

"That's not very nice," Reno grumbled, attempting to get comfortable again. "So…Rude…any plans for the holidays?"

"It's October."

Reno laughed. "Sorry, Icicle Inn makes me think of Christmas."

"It's _always_ Christmas at Icicle Inn," Vincent muttered darkly.

Reno grinned and tried to amuse himself by counting the rivets in the metal panels inside the chopper. _"423, 424, 425…" _Pausing, he attempted to add the number of rivets he'd counted on one side of the copter to the other. "Umm…hey, Rude, what's four hundred twenty-five plus seven hundred sixty-eight?"

"I don't know off hand." Rude shook his head. "I've never had a head for math."

"Oh. Ok. Vincent?" Reno poked the older Turk in the shoulder again. "Hey…"

"Reno, shut up and let him sleep," Rude scolded. "He's less likely to shoot you if he's sleeping."

"But I wanna know what the answer is…" Gingerly, Reno reached into Vincent's front pocket, pulling out a slender cell phone. "I wonder if there's a calculator on this thing…"

"Reno, cut it out…" Rude groaned. "You'll just get yourself in trouble…"

With a careless shrug, Reno jabbed a few buttons. He nearly dropped the cell phone as it rang in his hand. He looked at Rude helplessly.

"You got yourself into this…"

Nervously, Reno reached out to shake Vincent's shoulder, stopping as he decided that the lesser of the two evils would be answering the cell phone instead of waking his superior and informing him that he'd been fooling around with it.

"Hello?" he answered the phone.

"Hey, Vince, it's Trig. Where the hell are you, man? Me and Sketch have been waiting like _forever_…"

"This isn't Vincent," Reno interrupted. "I'm Reno. I just answered his phone because I figured it might be business and he's sleeping." Reno looked up and winked at Rude who rolled his eyes.

"Oh. Umm…he's sleeping?"

"Sorta. Let's just say he's down for the count right now."

"Is he hurt?" Trigger asked, tone slightly concerned.

"Well…yeah."

"Bad?"

Reno glanced over at Vincent. "Not too bad. He'll be ok."

"What happened?"

"Umm…" Reno glanced at Rude for reassurance and quickly outlined the details of what had happened in Icicle. "So…umm…yeah…"

Trigger was silent for a moment. "What exactly did this woman say to him?" he asked gravely.

"Nothing much…she told him that something isn't his fault."

Reno heard quiet muttering in the background. "Poor guy. I can't believe she'd dredge something like that up. How far are you from Midgar?"

"Umm…" Reno glanced at the digital clock at the front of the cockpit. "About ten minutes away."

"Ok, we'll meet you there…"

"Trigger? Quick question, he said he was gonna kill me, should I…?"

Trigger laughed. "Don't worry about it, you'll get used to the death threats."

"Oh. Ok, thanks. Bye." Reno hung the cell phone up and cautiously; he tucked it back into Vincent's front pocket. He jerked his hand back quickly as the dark haired Turk stirred and groaned.

"What the hell are you doing?" he asked, suspicious despite his weakened state.

Reno shrugged innocently. "Just making sure you aren't dead. It'll look bad if, on our first mission, our boss dies."

"It doesn't look _too_ bad, that's what happened to me."

Reno's eyes bulged. "Really? How'd he die?"

"Stray bullet. Couldn't be avoided really. Can't say I miss him, the man was an asshole."

Reno gulped nervously as Vincent closed his eyes again. "Heh…you…you're just joking, right?"

"Now, why would I do that?"

--------------------------------------------

The helicopter touched down lightly on the roof of Shinra HQ. Reno stretched and pulled open the door on the side of chopper. Immediately, he noticed to figures chatting casually at the edge of the roof. One looked up as the door slid open and jogged forward.

Reno hopped out, followed closely by Rude. "Good evening."

"Hey," the shorter of the two greeted him. "I'm Trigger, and this is Sketch. I take it you're Reno?"

"Yup. How'd you know?" Reno politely extended a hand and was pleased when Trigger returned the gesture firmly.

"Oh, Vincent was bitching about the stupid red haired moron Flick teamed him up with," Trigger said casually, laughing at Reno's affronted expression. "Speaking of Vincent, how's he doing?"

"I could be worse," Vincent remarked, climbing out of the helicopter with minimal assistance from Sketch.

Trigger clucked disapprovingly as he took a look at his friend's shoulder. "Mind you, you could also be a hell of a lot better."

"Don't smother me, Trig."

"You can't spell 'smothering' without "mothering'," Trigger shrugged. "C'mon, we'll head to the infirmary."

"Oh fine…"

"Sketch, take our reluctant hero down to the infirmary. I have to have a quick discussion with Mr. Reno and Mr. Rude here," Trigger directed.

"Can do, Trig." Sketch agreed, taking Vincent's arm and pulling him towards the entrance of the building.

With a cheery wave, Trigger turned to Rude and Reno. "So…"

Reno cleared his throat. "So what did Iflana mean?"

"Who? Oh, her…umm…long story," Trigger said, shifting uncomfortably. "I just wanted to thank the two of you for not letting him die…because…well, you know, he's not going to be thanking you himself."

Rude nodded. "That's ok."

"Yeah. No problem," Reno added.

Trigger grinned. "Thanks guys."

"Oh, yeah, before I forget…" Reno handed Sketch the pistol he'd taken from Vincent.

"How in the hell did you get this away from him?" Trigger asked incredulously.

Reno shrugged. "Rude did it. No big deal…just make sure he gets it back or he'll have to borrow a gun to shoot us."

Trigger laughed. "And wouldn't _that_ be a tragedy? Ah well. You two should head in to report. Gast will want to know how things went."

"Right away. Nice talking to you, Trigger," Reno answered, half-saluting with his nightstick and following Rude into the warmth of the Shinra building. "Mmm…it's nice to be warm again…"

"Yeah," Rude agreed noncommittally.

"Reno!" Flick shouted, dashing up to his pupil. "Hey, squirt, way to go!"

"Huh? Flick it was just a mission, no big deal…" Reno responded, confused, as Flick laughed and pounded him on the back happily.

"No, not that, you moron!" Flick laughed again. "Oh, this is priceless…"

"What is?" Reno demanded.

"Valentine's in _big_ trouble for that little riot in Icicle."

"How'd you find out about that?" Rude asked.

Flick waved a hand. "Shinra finds out about lots of things." He grinned wickedly. "He's in for it now."

"Why?" Reno was thoroughly confused.

"Inciting a riot. Provoking the population of Icicle. He'll probably be shot." Flick rubbed his palms together gleefully. "C'mon, there'll be an investigation pretty soon. You'll be asked to testify. Just play along with what I say and tell the truth about what a bastard Valentine is and everything will go smoothly. Head up to Shinra's office when you're ready."

Reno nodded dumbly as Flick headed upstairs. "Shot?"

Rude shook his head. "No way. They…wouldn't shoot him, just on account of starting a little fight…he didn't even really start it."

"Yeah…what do we do?"

"Simple," Rude answered, peering at Reno over his sunglasses. "We tell the truth."

With a sigh, Reno nodded. "Well, let's go…"

Heading up to the office, Reno felt torn in two. He knew that the events in Icicle hadn't been the result of Vincent's actions, but he didn't want to disappoint Flick. As they approached the door, Rude put his hand on the knob.

"Who're you siding with?" he asked quietly.

"Umm…" Reno bit his lip and closed his eyes. "Vincent. I know Flick's my teacher and all, but…I can't just lie about something that didn't really happen. I mean, so what if he's not found guilty? Flick gets pissed off and hates me and it ends there. If I say it was Vincent's fault…then…well, he dies and then Trigger and Sketch hate me, Gast hates me, and a whole ton of other people who respected him hate me. I couldn't live with that."

Rude nodded slowly. "I'm with you."

With a shaky breath, Reno pushed open the doors to President Shinra's office. It was a big room and the president himself was seated at a desk at the front, thumbing through a report with Flick reading over his shoulder. Gast sat in an armchair in front of the desk, and Vincent sat beside him, eyes down, looking drained and older than his years. His right arm hung useless in a sling, very hastily taken care of. Trigger and Sketch had positioned themselves on either side of the room and were looking grim. Reno almost didn't notice, but Poke stood in a corner too, looking on the event with rigid disapproval.

"Come on in, boys," President Shinra said kindly. "How are you two doing this evening?"

"Very well, thank you, sir," Reno and Rude answered in unison, saluting.

Flick cast a reassuring smile at Reno. "Can we move this trial along now, sir?" he asked, addressing President Shinra. "Lord knows, the defendant is looking a little worn out…" he finished scathingly.

"So this is a trial now, is it Flick?" Vincent asked quietly, lifting his eyes from the floor to meet Flick's. "Forgive me, but in my wearied state, I made the assumption it was an investigation. I believe that was what you said when you brought a company of soldiers to the infirmary for my 'arrest'. So we've gone straight to trial, have we? While you're at it, why don't we just skip that and move straight to 'execution'?"

Gast sighed and laid a hand on Vincent's arm. "Come now, don't be like that…it's an _investigation, _nothing more." He emphasized the last few words, looking up at Flick, eyes gleaming with dull hatred.

"My mistake," Flick said coolly. "Anyway, moving right along…may I state the facts of this case, President Shinra?"

"Yes, yes…"

"Very good." Flick cleared his throat. "Well, from reports we've received from Icicle, the situation seems quite clear. After arriving at Icicle and displaying _blatant_ disregard of proper decorum upon reaching the local inn…" Flick was interrupted as Trigger sharply cracked his knuckles and glared at him.

"So sorry," Trigger muttered, voice oozing insincerity.

Flick returned his glare. "Yes…anyway, Mr. Valentine and his squad headed for the home of Iflana Gainsborough. He had been given orders to take Ms. Gainsborough into custody, which he failed to do and didn't even attempt to use physical force to bring her back to Midgar."

"Objection!" Gast broke in. "I requested that they address Ms. Gainsborough as diplomatically as possible and issued specific instructions _not_ to use physical force. If the agreement could not be reached for Iflana to come here, I also asked to be contacted and offer a compromise. I assure you, these instructions were followed to the letter."

President Shinra nodded. "Valid point, Professor Gast. Continue, Flick."

"After leaving the home of Ms. Gainsborough, Mr. Valentine and his associates proceeded to head for the rendezvous point, _but_ not before attacking a group of citizens. No more than a dozen harmless carolers, out singing Christmas songs for the residents. Five were killed by gunshots, most likely from Mr. Valentine. Three others were wounded, by attacks from Reno and Rude, who had received the order to attack. After that, he fled the scene into the forest, leaving Reno and Rude to catch up and apprehend him. I rest my case," Flick finished.

President Shinra nodded slowly. "Thank you, Flick. And what about the two witnesses? Will you vouch for them both?"

Flick nodded eagerly. "Of course. I trust Reno with my life. I've never met a more honest, trustworthy, law abiding citizen. If you hear his testimony and call him a liar, then you call me a liar too."

"And for Mr. Kevins here?" Shinra continued.

"I'll speak for him, Mr. President," Poke volunteered, deep voice rumbling. "Rude's a good kid. Candid and wholly reliable. Anything he tells you will be absolute truth. The same goes for Reno."

Reno squirmed nervously. He could almost feel the hopes and prayers that rode on his shoulders.

"Gast, have you anything to add to your operative's character?"

"I don't believe a word Flick says," Gast said flatly, standing up and placing a hand on Vincent's shoulder. "I trust Vincent with my life and my life's work."

"Thank you. Have you anything to say for yourself, Mr. Valentine?"

Reno shuddered as Vincent looked up at Flick, fire flickering deep in his brown eyes and then shifted his gaze to the president. "Not for myself. For Mr. Cross here. President Shinra, may I ask the punishment for swaying the evidence given in an investigation?"

"It's classified as high treason and the punishment is death," Shinra answered.

"Thank you," Vincent nodded, turning his eyes back to Flick. "I hope you'll be offended when I spit on your grave."

Flick's eyes narrowed. "I hope the same goes for you when I dance on yours."

"Gentlemen," President Shinra's voice cracked through the silent battle between the two Turks like a whip. "Kindly compose yourselves. May we hear the testimony of Mr. Charles Reno?"

Reno nodded and swallowed the fear that rose in his stomach. "Thank you, Mr. President." Reno looked around the room. Meeting Trigger and Sketch's eyes, he saw worry and a slight beseeching. Looking at Rude, he saw the faith and implacable trust that his partner placed in him. Poke's eyes were filled with a sort of challenge, daring him to tell the truth. Gast's face bespoke volumes of hope. Reno looked up at Flick and saw him nod, confident that Reno would take his side. Finally he looked at Vincent, who had cast his eyes to the floor again. Sensing Reno's gaze, he lifted his head, brown eyes simply asking him to end the waiting and pass the sentence for good or ill.

"Continue, Mr. Reno," President Shinra urged.

"If I say," he began, "that what Flick says is true, Vincent dies, right?"

"That is correct."

"If I tell you that Flick is an out and out liar, Flick dies, right?"

"Unless evidence can be found that his sources were faulty."

Reno took a deep breath. "Well…then…aww…shit. Every thing Flick said is…"

Everyone in the room held their breath, watching Reno intently.

"…is a goddamn lie," Reno finished, turning to glare at Flick. "What the _hell_ are you? Some stupid little grudge and you're willing to kill him? I mean, dammit, he's a Turk just like you! Almost everybody in this room is a Turk, would you kill the lot of us too? Excuse me, but since when is there proper protocol for addressing an inn full of people who want to make mincemeat out of you? And they were hardly docile. That night the innkeeper himself broke into our room and would've slaughtered all three of us if Vincent hadn't persuaded him it was a bad idea."

Trigger cracked his knuckles happily.

"And about Iflana. Beautiful lady, quite a charmer. Took me and Rude in right away. Hell, I was all for leaving her where she was and telling Gast she'd headed for Costa del Sol or something. Man, if Vincent wasn't such a jackass…" Reno paused. "I'm sorry, sir, but you _are_ a bit of a bastard sometimes…"

Vincent didn't answer, but the ghost of a smile he offered spoke volumes.

"Anyway, we wouldn't even have told Gast she existed if Vincent hadn't been so damn stubborn. And after we _left_. Ok, here's where the real charges came in? And all that other crap was just bashing his character, right?" Reno looked around for reassurance.

"That's what I thought," Gast agreed.

"Yeah. Well, anyway, Christmas carolers? Good god, man. Mr. President, what is the date today?"

"October twenty fourth," President Shinra responded.

"Thank you. Correct me if I'm wrong, but it's not even Halloween yet. Too damn early for Christmas carolers, even in Icicle. And since when do Christmas carolers bring hunting rifles and clubs when they go caroling? Don't tell me that's their percussion section."

Flick's eyes had widened when Reno began his testimony and now narrowed with hatred and betrayal.

"Anyway, there were no _fewer _than _twenty_ of the bastards, all armed to the teeth and looking to spill some blood. I'm dead serious when I say a confrontation couldn't be avoided without the three of us giving complete and utter surrender including all our ID, keycards, and weaponry. Would have been a fairly good start to a terrorist group, wouldn't you say? And that's not the half of it. How many did you say Vincent shot? Five? Hell, no, he got at least eight of the bastards. The eight with rifles at least. We didn't get the order to attack. We took it upon ourselves."

"Good boy, Reno," Poke murmured.

"Anyway, that's all I'm saying. I'd say more but…" Reno glanced around. "Oh, never mind, there aren't any ladies present. Flick, you…"

"That will quite suffice, Mr. Reno," President Shinra said crisply. "Mr. Kevins, have you anything to add?"

"If I may, sir, it would well please me to finish Reno's sentence. The part that ladies shouldn't be around for. But other than that, he's telling the truth completely," Rude acceded.

Flick's face contorted angrily as he realized just what sort of trouble he was in. "He…don't listen to a word they say! Either of them! Reno's a goddamnit, bloody liar!"

"Then so are you, Mr. Cross," Sketch said sharply, spectacled eyes gleaming. "If I may quote you directly, I believe you said: 'Call him a liar, then you call me one too', did you not?"

"All these years Flick…I thought better of you. I thought it was a harmless grudge, a bit of rivalry…" Reno could hear sadness in the big man's voice, realizing that Poke had just lost a dear friend.

President Shinra placed the tips of his fingers together, looking pensively over them at Vincent. "Well, my boy, I'm sorry. I was quite willing to send you to the chopping block."

"Not an issue, sir," Vincent answered quietly, some of the suave confidence returning to his tone.

"On the contrary, it's quite an issue. You're a valuable asset, Valentine. It will be a dark day when Shinra loses you as an operative, especially if it's at Shinra's hands."

"Thank you, sir. It's nice to hear my death spoken of with such regard."

Reno grinned as President Shinra laughed. "A dark day indeed. Black humor, my boy, just delightful. Now, what do you propose we do with your friend here?" President Shinra indicated Flick whose face lost all color.

Vincent cast a disdainful glance at Flick. "Him? What would be cruel? Death? Hardly. I think…if I may sir, I would request that his life be spared and he be imprisoned in the desert. That new place, he could be a pilgrim. Of course, we would need a _trial_ first…does this serve as an investigation?"

President Shinra nodded. "Yes, I believe it does." He turned to Flick with a stern expression. "You will report to the courthouse on the fifty-first floor for your hearing. I will be both judge and jury. You're lucky I'm not allowing Valentine the privilege of being executioner."

"I hadn't thought of that…" Vincent murmured speculatively.

"Cool your jets," Shinra instructed Vincent, then returned his attention to Flick. "You will be in court in…Gast, how long will it be before Mr. Valentine is capable of performing another mission?"

Gast frowned. "I would say at least two weeks, sir."

"I would say half that time," Vincent disagreed, guessing the president's line of thought.

"Very well. In one week, you will present yourself in court. I extend the invitation to all present to attend. If you fail to arrive, for reasons such as attempted escape, I give Mr. Valentine complete and utter permission to hunt you down like a dog."

"Can Reno and Rude come too?" Vincent asked quietly.

Reno laughed. "Please, Mr. President?" he pleaded, dropping to his knees in a mockery of childish begging. "You can't let Vincent have all the fun…"

President Shinra smiled. "Certainly. Now, Flick, get down on your knees like Reno there and thank the nice Turk for sparing your life."

Numbly, Flick dropped to his knees on the ground and muttered something.

"Could you have him repeat that sir? A bit louder, I don't think everyone heard," Vincent asked mildly.

"Thank you, Valentine…" Flick spat.

"You're most welcome. I'll come visit you from time to time."

With a howl, Flick leapt to his feet and would have killed Vincent then and there if Rude hadn't taken the opportunity to shatter his jaw with an uppercut. Flick reeled backward and crashed against the wall and toppled to the ground.

"Thank you, Rude."

"Not at all. You aren't looking too well, sir, perhaps you should get some rest?" Rude suggested.

"Yeah, probably," Vincent agreed ruefully. "Thanks, Reno."

Reno grinned. "Nah, no problem. I wish I'd realized sooner what a jackass he is…"

"You haven't known him as long as we have," Trigger remarked quietly. "C'mon Vincent, I'll give you a ride home. You look dead on your feet, man."

"I _feel_ dead on my feet."

"See you later, guys!" Trigger called, exiting the room with Vincent.

With a sigh, Reno stretched. "What's the time? Good god, past midnight…I wish I had an apartment to go home to."

Rude shrugged. "You wanna come stay at my place? I've got a spare room in my apartment…"

"Sure. Better than renting a hotel room every night…Thanks Rude."

"No problem."

--------------------------------------------

Reno awoke to a pounding headache, like someone had taken a jackhammer to his skull. With a moan he wiggled his fingers and toes, as a test that all his limbs were still attached. Opening his eyes, he silently exalted prayers of thankfulness that he hadn't opened them to blindingly bright lights. As he managed to focus, he saw wood about a foot above his head. Curiously, he reached up to see if it was a figment of his hung over imagination and his hand would pass straight through. It was solid and Reno pressed it with his fingers. Calling on all his power of concentration he managed to remember the company Christmas party. He remembered music, laughter, and conversation, and (going into more depth) liquor, food, and a delightful blonde vixen of a secretary. "Oh…my…god…." he mumbled, sitting up and cracking his forehead on the ceiling of his small prison. "%$#!"

Reno could almost swear he'd heard muffled laughter, immediately hushed by another voice. "Ok, who the hell thinks this is funny?" he demanded as he rubbed his forehead furiously, ignoring the fact that his own voice cut into the soft tissues of his brain like a knife.

There was silence from outside the tablecloth that obscured Reno's view. Shifting sideways, he managed to poke his head out from under what turned out to be a low coffee table and was met with bright fluorescent lights and a bucket full of ice-cold water. "#&%$!" he shouted again, scarcely able to hear himself amidst the gales of laughter.

"Don't use such language only a week before Christmas, Reno," Rude's voice scolded.

"Did you like Rude's present? It's his patented hang over remedy." Sketch nudged Reno's head with the toe of his black dress shoe.

"I think Poke and Trigger could use a healthy dose too," a voice commented dryly. From the extremely sarcastic tone, Reno could tell it was Vincent.

"I see Poke…on the pool table, no less, but where's Trigger?" The last speaker was either Sketch or Rude, but Reno was far too concerned with the fact that he'd nearly been drowned by Rude's "patented hangover remedy" to figure who it was.

"You guys are all…jackasses…" Reno muttered, opening his eyes. The Shinra lounge was bedecked with garlands of pine and holly, something Reno remembered vaguely from the previous evening. Red ribbon and tinsel abounded, reflecting the sunlight from the windows. Staring up at the ceiling, he couldn't see the faces of his comrades.

"Merry Christmas, Reno," Rude chuckled, helping his waterlogged friend off the ground and onto one of the couches.

"Yeah, whatever, likewise." Reno rubbed his forehead. Looking around, he could see Vincent had claimed an armchair and was sitting with his suit jacket and dress shirt open, skimming through a newspaper he'd found somewhere. Rude was sprawled comfortably on one of the many couches that occupied the Turks' spacious portion of the "Shinra Employee Lounge" floor. Sketch was sipping a mug of coffee and trying to get Vincent to surrender the crossword page from the paper. Poke and Trigger were nowhere to be seen.

"Just out of curiosity, Reno, do you remember anything from last night?" Sketch asked.

"Umm…" Reno concentrated, trying to pick out details from the liquor sodden gray matter in his head. "Nope. Zilch."

"Oh good. We were going to show you the security tapes when you sobered up," Sketch said brightly. "It's an awful shame they turned off the microphones, you're an incredible singer, Reno."

There was a groan from the pool table and Reno looked up, just in time to see Poke roll over and fall off the edge, hitting the ground with an impact that shook the floor.

Sketch laughed out loud and Vincent hid a smile behind the newspaper. "I used to do that."

"Get drunk off your ass and roll off pool tables?" Reno asked skeptically.

Vincent gave him a withering look. "No. When I was younger, I always used to fall asleep on the couch in our living room and wake up on the floor the next morning. It took my mother ages to get me to break the habit."

"What's so bad about sleeping on a couch? You'd think it have gotten you ready for your university years," Sketch remarked.

Vincent shook his head. "No, when I was eight I cracked my head on the brick of our fireplace. Blood all over the place. Ever since then she tried everything to get me to stop."

"Did she manage it?" Rude asked curiously.

"Yeah. When I was ten."

"How?"

Vincent sighed. "She got a leather couch."

Sketch laughed again. "Ouch. I've done that. I fell asleep at a friend's party and got the side of my face stuck to the cushion. Not pleasant."

"Not at all."

Poke ambled dizzily up to the group. "So how'd you enjoy you're first Christmas party at Shinra?" he asked, rubbing bleary eyes.

Reno grinned. "I'm sure it was great, but I can't remember a thing."

"That's ok, Reno, I can't remember a single party and I've been here ten years," Poke laughed, wincing. "How many is this for you and Sketch, Vincent?"

"Three, right?"

"Yeah, I think so," Sketch nodded his agreement. "Have you seen Trigger anywhere?"

Poke shrugged. "Check under the Christmas tree."

Reno laughed. "Yeah, all wrapped up with a bow stuck to his face…"

"One of us should probably go check and make sure he hasn't drowned himself in gin," Sketch remarked.

"I'm not going anywhere," Vincent refused.

"Me either," Rude agreed. "Reno, you do it."

"Why me?"

"Because you're the one who got drunkest last night," Vincent explained.

"Hell." Reno stood up and stretched, wringing water out of his ponytail and drenching the crossword that Sketch had finally managed to acquire.

"Hey! You _bastard_!" Sketch complained.

Reno shrugged. "So sorry." Climbing over the couch, he made his way over to the Christmas tree, where, sure enough, Trigger was curled up with a bottle of vodka. Reno grinned and poked him in the ribs with his nightstick. "G'morning, Trig."

"Mmph…"

Reno tugged the bottle from Trigger's hands and dumped the contents unceremoniously on his head.

"&$%#! What the hell?" Trigger sat up and rubbed his eyes. "Reno, you…bastardly dastard…"

"It's been remarked," Reno agreed and held out a hand to hauled Trigger to his feet. "C'mon, everybody stayed overnight."

"Of course they did, it's tradition," Trigger snorted, wiping some of the alcohol off his face with his shirt sleeve.

"Cool." Reno collapsed back on the couch as Trigger deposited himself on the floor.

"And the award for heaviest drinker goes too…" Sketch murmured.

"Shut up," Poke grumbled. "I'd win anyway."

"I dunno, Reno gave you a run for your money…" Rude teased.

"And what am I? Chopped liver?" Trigger asked indignantly. "Look, I'm _soaked_ in vodka, surely that counts for something?"

"Yeah, the waste of a perfectly good bottle of vodka," Vincent remarked.

"Bite me."

Reno laughed. "So now what?"

"Anyone hungry?" Poke asked tentatively.

"More importantly, does anyone know of a restaurant that will accept a bunch of liquor drenched Turks?" Rude added.

"To be fair, only one of us is actually 'liquor drenched'," Vincent looked pointedly at Trigger.

"This was Reno's fault," Trigger explained.

Reno grinned guiltily. "You asked for it."

"How in god's name did I ask to be soaked in vodka?"

"I dunno. Let's just go eat."

"Yeah," Sketch agreed. "I've got a mission tonight so I gotta get home to get some sleep."

--------------------------------------------

"Hot damn! We get a week off!" Reno exalted, looking at the notice posted by the door of the Shinra Parkade. "Christmas tomorrow…"

"Yeah…" Rude agreed, grabbing his jacket. "Are you…going home to your family or something?"

Reno laughed bitterly. "I don't have a family."

"Oh." Rude hesitated. "Me neither."

"Yeah…so…I guess you don't have any plans or anything."

"Nope. You?"

"Nah." Reno scuffed the toe of his shoe on the hard concrete floor of the parkade. "So…"

Rude held up a hand to silence him. "Shh…hear that?"

Reno nodded and slipped into the shadows as voices approached.

"Trigger, just stop it!" Reno heard Vincent's angry whisper. "You know as well as I do that it's a goddamn lie…"

There was silence and a heavy sigh from Trigger. "Can't you even hope they're wrong?"

"No. I can't. 'Missing in Action' is just a nice way of saying 'Dead' and you know it."

"But…come on…he can't be dead…I mean…"

"I know what you mean. He was…just like either of us. Outside of my family, I'd never known anyone as well. And now he's dead."

"How the hell can you just say 'dead'? Maybe…"

"Maybe nothing. Forget it. We can't do anything." Despite his harsh words, Reno could hear there was a lot of sorrow in Vincent's tone.

"My god…dead…I can't believe it."

"Sketch was a good guy."

Reno looked at Rude, slightly shocked. _"Sketch is dead?"_

"So…you're going to be alone for Christmas, huh?" Trigger asked tentatively.

"Aren't I always?"

"No, not always. Usually it's me, you, and Sketch, but…well…my mother finally convinced my dad that I'm not a 'no good draft dodger' and he agreed to let me back for Christmas…it's been a while since I've seen either of them, I should go…"

"Don't let me stop you."

"It's just…well, come on, Vincent; you shouldn't be alone on Christmas. It's not right. I could come back earlier than I planned…maybe, if you came along…"

"Forget it. I'm fine. You've got a family to go back to, I don't. Just let it lie."

Reno could hear Trigger's remorseful silence. "Well…I'll…I'll see you later. Merry Christmas."

"Yeah, you too."

Reno leaned against the wall as he heard a car engine start and pull out of the parking lot. "Damn…" he said softly.

Rude nodded. "This is a rotten feeling."

"I bet Vincent feels worse. This kind of thing makes for a lonely Christmas." Pensively, Reno slipped out of the darkness. "Hey, Vincent."

The dark haired Turk turned to face him. "What?"

"Umm…me and Rude were wondering if…maybe, you wanted to come get a drink or something. I mean, because it's Christmas and all…"

"What are you expressing? Pity?"

Reno held up his hands. "Don't get all defensive. C'mon, spend some time with people for once."

"I'd rather not."

"What's the matter? Do you have someplace better to go?" Reno prompted. "What's an hour of time with me and Rude, toasting the holidays?"

"Fine."

Reno was a little startled that he agreed. "Ok, we'll meet you…umm…how about at that place on Nerive Avenue? It's supposed to be nice."

"You'd know better than I would."

"Yeah. See you there…" Reno turned and climbed into Rude's car, wondering whether or not he'd done the right thing. "You think he'll show up?" he asked.

"Maybe. If you lost one of your best friends, would you want to spend time with people?"

"I dunno. You're my best friend, what would you do if I died?"

Rude shrugged. "I don't know. It's not a good thing to think about."

"No, not really." Reno fell silent until Rude pulled into the parking lot behind a small bar. "What's this place called?"

"Murphy's." Rude climbed out of the car and made his way towards the cheerily lit entrance to the pub.

"Oh. Ever been?" Reno stepped over a pile of slush and opened the door of the bar. The interior was warm and the atmosphere was friendly, seeming a lot like a ski lodge and reminding Reno painfully of Icicle Inn.

"I'm what you could call a regular. They've got their Christmas decorations up."

"I can see that."

"Hey Rude!" a busty young waitress with a Santa hat on her head called. "You want your usual table?"

"Yes, please, Stella," Rude answered politely.

Reno followed as Rude wove his way through the tables, sitting at one in the back corner. Reno sat down in the chair across from him as Stella pulled out a pen and paper.

"What'll you boys be having?" she asked brusquely. "I assume you'll take your usual, Rude?"

"Yup. What d'you want Reno?"

"Scotch and water. Skip the water. Make it two; we've got a friend coming."

"Hopefully," Rude added.

"All right. It'll be a moment." Stella bustled off into the crowd, heading for the bar.

"Damn…" Reno murmured, picking up a stick pretzel from the bowl at the center of the table and biting the end off it thoughtfully.

"She's married."

"What? No way!" Reno whined. "Married?"

"Yup."

"Shit. Ah well, there're more fish in the sea."

"I don't often hear women referred to as fish."

"It's just an expression. D'you think Vincent's going to show?" Reno asked, tossing the last half of his pretzel into the air and deftly catching it in his mouth.

"I couldn't tell you. Maybe he will, maybe he won't."

"Fifty Gil says he does," Reno challenged.

"Reno, I'm not betting on either side. I don't know whether he's coming or not."

"Spoilsport," Reno complained as Stella approached the table with a tray.

"Here you are, Mr. Reno, scotch, no water. Rude, I figured you'd want to try the new Merlot that Murph got in on Friday, so I took the liberty of bringing you a glass, and another scotch for your unidentified friend." Stella set a wine glass in front of Rude and a smaller tumbler in front of Reno.

"Thanks, Stella," Rude acknowledged, taking a small sip from his glass. "Good call."

"Remember that when you tip me," she said demurely, heading for another table.

Reno chuckled to himself. "I didn't know you drank wine. I thought you were a 'hard liquor' sort of fellow, like me."

Rude shook his head. "No, I prefer the art of wine tasting. A little more refined than guzzling gin and scotch all the time."

"You don't get as smashed as I do though," Reno pointed out, tilting his glass at Rude. "To the art of getting wasted," he toasted, lifting his glass respectfully and taking a sip.

"It depends. Some of the older vintages are about as potent as some of your stuff."

"Yeah?" Reno asked curiously. "Hmm…"

"Interested? I could maybe teach you a bit."

"Sure, sounds kinda intriguing. What do I start with?"

"I'll get you a glass of what I'm having and we'll see if you can relate to what I make of it."

"Ok," Reno agreed, polishing off the last of his scotch. "All ready."

Rude smacked his forehead. "No. That's the entirely wrong way to go about it. Now all you'll be able to taste is scotch."

Reno rolled his eyes. "I didn't expect this to be work. I'm trying to get drunk, man; it's supposed to be fun."

"The least you could do is get drunk with class." Rude flagged down Stella as she passed. "Could you bring Reno a glass of what I'm drinking?"

"For you, Rude, anything," Stella smiled and headed back to the bar.

"Good god, why does that woman like you so much?" Reno grumbled.

"You're just jealous because she hasn't even _looked _at you. Anyway, she's married."

"You've mentioned." Reno laid his chin in his hand and idly started spinning a pretzel around, a crystal of salt acting as an axle.

Stella came up to the table and set a wine glass in front of Reno. "There you go, darling, try not to look so down." Stella patted his head and went back to her rounds.

"Hmph." Reno looked at Rude for instructions. "Now what?"

"You drink it, jackass," Rude said patiently.

"Well excuse me, but I thought you were supposed to like smell it or something first," Reno retorted huffily.

Rude shook his head. "Nah, I think that just looks stupid. Who cares what it smells like?"

"Point taken." Reno took a small sip of the wine. "Blech."

Rude gave him a hard look over his sunglasses. "Listen, do you want to learn or not? If you're going to appreciate the taste, you have to appreciate it for what it is, not comparing it to all the flavored liquor you find so palatable."

"All right, all right…" Reno grumbled. "What am I supposed to taste?"

"Firstly, is it sweet or sour?"

"Both, sort of…"

"More towards which end?"

"Umm…"

Rude looked at him long-sufferingly. "You can take more than one taste you know."

Reno glared at him and took another sip. "Sweet, I guess."

"Do you taste any fruits?"

"I don't know. Umm…some sort of berry, I guess."

"You don't _guess_ at these things. What sort of berry?"

With a sigh, Reno took another taste. "Blackberry."

"You're sure?"

"Yes."

"Impressive, I didn't expect you to be right on your first try. What else? There are subtleties and nuances to this that I didn't catch the first time. Nevertheless, it's an unquestionably sophisticated vintage."

"Umm…what?" Reno blinked away the familiar bleariness that was starting to sting at his eyes. "No more than four syllables to a word when I'm drinking, ok buddy?"

Rude rolled his eyes. "You don't hold liquor well, do you, Slim?"

With a bit of a foolish laugh, Reno shook his head. "Whatever. Now, repeat what you said in drunk-talk."

"Dis drink is umm yummy good, yaw?"

After getting past a furious bout of laughter, Reno managed to pick out the flavors of cherries, plums and, with a few hints from Rude, detected the faintest presence of black currants. "Is that it?"

"No, that's just what's immediately present. Can you pick up anything else at all?"

Reno closed his eyes and concentrated as hard as he could on picking out the essences of anything else present in the liquid. "Umm…nah, it's a stupid guess…"

"What?"

"Well…I'd _guess _cinnamon."

"Very good, Reno! I think you may have a gift for this."

Reno held his glass at eye level and looked at it suspiciously. "They put cinnamon in wine?"

"You've got a hell of a lot to learn."

"All in good time." Reno looked up towards the door as a gust of wind blew in. "Hey, look who showed up…you owe me fifty Gil."

"I do not," Rude protested. "Hey, Vincent, over here!"

The dark haired Turk looked up, startled and walked over to the table. He seemed almost numb as he sat down in the chair next to Reno.

"Hey, man, we didn't think you were going to show," Reno said lightly.

"I wasn't."

"Oh…" Reno sighed and leaned back in his chair. "We took the liberty of ordering you a drink. Figured you could use one."

"Thanks." There was no emotion in his voice and he didn't touch the glass in front of him.

Reno returned to idly spinning his pretzel, glancing at Rude for assistance. His partner shrugged and swallowed a little more wine. _"This was your idea," _Rude mouthed.

Looking at Vincent, Reno noticed he'd idly taken out his gun and was spinning it on the tabletop, in a similar manner as Reno spun his pretzel. "I hate Shinra," he said simply, more to himself than anyone else.

"Whoa, man, watch it," Reno cautioned, looking around nervously. "Half the people in this bar are Shinra exec."

"So?"

"It's like suicide."

Vincent smiled dryly, eyes still on his weapon. "They don't care…" Vincent turned around in his chair and tapped another of the bar's patron's on the shoulder. "Excuse me?"

"Yeah?" the man asked, twisting around to face Vincent.

"Does President Shinra still know I hate his filthy rotten guts?"

"Last time I checked. I could remind him if you wanted."

"I'd appreciate it. I'd hate to think he'd forgotten about me."

"You're welcome," the man answered returning his attention to his group of friends.

Reno shook his head disbelievingly. "Funny, you never seemed like the suicidal type…"

"Me? Suicidal…" Vincent paused and lifted his gun from the table, turning it, so the mother of pearl handle caught the light.

Reno fidgeted nervously, unsure whether or not to say anything and very sincerely hoping that Vincent wasn't about to go on a psychotic rampage and shoot anyone he ran across.

"No, I don't think I'm suicidal," Vincent said finally. "I don't want to die."

"You're in the wrong line of work if you're afraid of death," Reno remarked, taking a relieved swallow from his glass, meeting Rude's disapproving stare with a shrug.

"I never said afraid."

"Aren't you?" Rude asked quietly. "I am."

"Me too," Reno agreed, emboldened by his partner's admission.

"Maybe. Not so much the tangible act of death, but the very intangible concept of what comes after."

"Afterlife?" Reno asked.

"Or the lack thereof."

"Huh?"

Vincent looked up for the first time since his arrival. "What would be worse? Burning in hell or simply ceasing to exist?"

"What do you mean 'ceasing to exist'? Like dying?" Reno questioned, thoroughly confused.

"No, not ceasing to live, ceasing to exist. Like a complete and total loss of consciousness. Just gone, not thinking, not feeling ever again."

"Well…wouldn't hell be worse?" Rude asked.

"At least you'd still have mind and soul."

Reno shifted uncomfortably and drained the last of his glass to try and steady his thinking. "This is pretty heavy philosophy, is there something that brought it about?"

"It usually comes up around Christmas time."

"Oh yes, the most deadly season." Reno snapped a pretzel in half and winced as Rude kicked him hard in the shin.

"Why Christmas?" the bald Turk asked seriously.

"Lots of reasons, I suppose…"

Reno watched his superior intently, realizing that Vincent wouldn't talk about the death of his best friend without a little push. Reaching into the painful depths of his memory, he took a deep breath. "My parents died at Christmas time."

Rude looked up, and, surprisingly, Vincent pulled himself out of his own sorrow and regarded him inquiringly. "They did?"

Reno nodded dumbly. "Yeah. I was eight. We were…in a car on our way to a carnival and we got nailed by a truck. The car went into the river and I don't remember anything else until about three months later."

"I'm sorry," Rude murmured, genuinely sympathetic.

Reno shrugged; trying to make it seem like it wasn't a big deal. "It was…a long time ago."

"Time doesn't matter."

"Why do you say that?" Reno asked, startled by the note of humanity in Vincent's voice.

"Does it matter?"

"Well…no…I suppose not…" Reno hesitated. "Is your family…?"

"Yes."

"Oh…how?"

"You're both from Midgar, right?" Vincent asked, apparently changing the subject.

"Yeah," Reno nodded, deciding that it might be better to respect Vincent's abrupt dismissal of the issue.

Rude hesitated then nodded as well.

"So neither of you were drafted. Shinra has a mentality within Midgar that drafting people off the streets is bad for publicity. I'm not from Midgar, hence these restrictions didn't apply."

"You were drafted?" Reno murmured in disbelief.

"I was twenty-one. I was in the middle of school, getting a degree in ballistics analysis to satisfy the inner passion my family seems to have for firearms. And Shinra was looking out for recruits."

"And you were top of your class, correct?" Rude guessed.

"As always. When Shinra came, I ran. Me, Trigger, and…Sketch. We were all candidates for the draft board. And we made the very stupid mistake of trying to fool Shinra."

Reno felt anger stirring deep inside him towards the company that had welcomed him off the streets with open arms. "Then what?"

"We were bound to mess up sooner or later. It…was my fault."

"How?" Reno asked, thinking back to what had happened in Icicle.

"It was Christmas. We'd spent the past year and a half running. I thought it was…justifiable for me to want to go back to my family, right?"

"Yeah, sure," Reno answered carefully, a little worried by his senior's appeal for reassurance.

"We wouldn't have stayed long. Not even a day. We got there at night and Trig and Sketch went to the inn. I went home to surprise my family. My mother, my father, and my little sister."

Reno sorely wished he had something else to drink, eying the glass that still sat untouched in front of Vincent.

"Shinra followed?" Rude supplied quietly.

"Kalm is a stone's throw from Midgar. It didn't take long for them to send a squad up. It was my fault that they got Trig and Sketch, it was my fault they shot up an inn full of people, and it was my fault they killed my family."

The noisy bar suddenly seemed to be filled with only a dull roar, the conversations and vibrant lives that flew past suddenly muted, dimmed by the cloud of anguish that hung over the table in the back corner. Reno, remembering his parents and reflecting on how much he still missed them, even in the seventeen years since their death. Rude, holding his closely guarded past, nursing memories and slight anxiety that his comrades would press for an explanation of his not mentioning his family. And Vincent, alone with his guilt and pain for the loss of his family, the price they'd paid for the hollow freedom he'd earned himself and his friends.

Finally the fury Reno had built up in his system got the better of him. "That's goddamnit not fair!" he whispered harshly.

"What am I supposed to do?"

"Run! Ditch the company, hide out somewhere, _anything_!"

Vincent shook his head. "I ran once. It cost me my family. If I run again, it'll cost me my life. There may not be much left of it, but it's all I have."

"You're just going to sit here, taking Shinra's orders and doing nothing more rebellious than hating the President's guts?" Reno demanded.

"I've done more than that." Vincent pulled out his gun again and held it speculatively. Fingers twisting lightly, he unlocked the barrel and slid six bullets onto the table. "Five members of the squad who came to Kalm," he stated, picking up the first cartridge.

Reno bit his lip as Vincent slipped the bullet back into the gun with a click.

"The first had the unfortunate pleasure of being my first squad leader. Stray bullet. Couldn't have been avoided. The fact that I never miss may or may not have contributed to that."

Throwing caution to the winds, Reno reached over and snatched Rude's wine glass, draining the contents to try and steady his nerves as Vincent picked up the second bullet.

"The next one was hard. He always looked at me funny after the first one died. It was a shame really. The poor bastard killed himself. Shot in the heart. It's a physical impossibility for a person to shoot himself in the chest, but he rigged it very well. He opened the door of his apartment and a gun fired and killed him."

Still trying to calm himself, Reno snatched a cigarette from the purse of a woman at the table next to him and lit up from the candle at the center of the table, taking a long drag as the third bullet clicked back into place.

"Number three…I can't quite remember which one this was…oh, yeah. A random murder. Freak attack. Chances were one in a million that he'd get nailed. They never found out who did it. Couldn't trace the bullet, or the groove the barrel of the gun left on it." Pensively, he held his gun out to Reno. "It was my father's. It's not recorded as mine. It's still under my father's name. Of course, they don't check dead men's records."

Reno felt his stomach churn a bit as he handed Vincent his gun. The fourth shell slid back into the barrel.

"This one was very tricky. Mostly because he was a raging paranoiac. He wore a bulletproof vest absolutely everywhere. The thing must have weighed fifty pounds and he never took it off. I couldn't do that. Besides, what good is a bulletproof vest if cyanide tipped bullets placed anywhere else will kill you almost as quickly?"

Reno gulped and shook his head. "Not much good at all."

"I know," Vincent nodded and picked up the fifth bullet. "The fifth one was easy. He was extremely overconfident. Caught in an alley, trapped. What a wretched way to die, don't you think? It's funny, he was the only one who shot back."

Reno sighed with relief that the chilling succession had ended. He looked up and noticed the curious frown Rude wore. _"Oh shit. Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit. Please, Rude, for the love of god, don't ask about…"_

"What about the last bullet?" Rude asked.

Reno groaned as Vincent picked up the last cartridge and spun it between his fingers broodingly. "I didn't really know for the longest time. For a little while, I thought it would be poetically just to save the last bullet for the awful person who shot all those poor, wretched Turks, but I changed that line of thinking. This one's been reserved for quite some time now. Its wait is almost over though. I've heard the most delightful rumor that Mr. Cross…I suppose you know him better as Flick; anyway, he's planning to break out soon. It's a new prison; I didn't think he would have too much trouble. I'd hoped he would try to run from Shinra in the first place, but, no, unfortunately he's not as stupid as I was and he's taking the high road. Not long though. Funny, he'll be the first one that dies with Shinra's permission and he's the last on the list. Oh well."

Reno ground his cigarette out in the ashtray in the center of the table, watching how the glow slowly faded to gray ash. He cleared his throat and nervously looked around for the waitress.

Rude stood up and grabbed jacket, indicating Reno should do likewise. "Hey, Vincent, we're going now…are you…going to stay here?"

"No, I don't think so. I guess I'll go home."

"Oh…" Rude pulled his jacket on. "Vincent?"

"Yes?"

"I admire what you did."

"I don't."

Reno sighed and exited the bar, handing Stella a couple hundred Gil, grossly overpaying her. "Thanks."

"Anytime, sugar," Stella grinned, tucking the money into her shirt. "You tip well."

"That I do."

Rude caught up to him. "He certainly doesn't hold many qualms about killing people."

"Killing Turks," Reno corrected and gulped nervously. "You think…we're next?"

"No, I don't," Rude shook his head. "I think he just told us to get it off his chest. He knows we won't tell anyone. Will we?"

"Nope. I don't want to die."

--------------------------------------------

"Gast, this isn't fair…" Reno heard a halfhearted protest from Professor Gast's office and stopped to listen.

"I'm sorry, Vincent, but my hands are tied. Hojo let his Turk get killed and took the opportunity of my brief return to ask if he could borrow you, seeing has how 'you aren't essential to my work if I'm up in Icicle'," Gast answered placatingly.

"Borrow," Vincent echoed sullenly. "A piece of property. I don't _want_ to work for Hojo!"

"I'm sorry."

"I'm sick of all the apologizing I get out of Shinra. 'We're sorry we shot your family. We're sorry your best friend is 'missing in action'. We're sorry our company is a goddamnit sham.' This is _not_ fair."

Reno heard Gast sigh. "In essence, all you're doing is throwing a temper tantrum. Which will do you no good because you have to go anyway. So you better get used to calling Hojo, 'sir', instead of 'goddamn jackass.'"

"Asshole," Vincent corrected bitterly.

"Whatever. Both of them apply. It'll only be a few months and then you'll be back at Shinra, ok?"

"Fine."

--------------------------------------------

Reno idly tossed his cell phone back and forth between his hands, lying in the middle of the floor of Rude's apartment, which he had established would now be his home as well. Rude didn't seem to mind. Reno had decided the PHS was a rather pointless piece of equipment. No one ever called him. Rude never found the need to and shared Reno's view that it was a useless tool. Vincent had been in Nibelheim for the past three months and neither had heard a word out of him, and Shinra never even bothered to call.

"%#$!" he yelped as Rude banged him on the top of the head with the vacuum cleaner he insisted on pushing around his apartment every few days. Half sitting up, he glared at his partner. "What the hell was that for?"

"I can't vacuum around you. Get off the floor."

"Why do you _insist _on cleaning this place?" Reno grumbled, climbing onto the couch and stretching out comfortably, trying to find a mark on the cell phone that would indicate whether or not it was waterproof and wondering if he could test it by dropping it in the bathtub.

"Because it's dirty," Rude answered, raising his voice above the roar of the vacuum cleaner.

"Oh." Over the noise of the appliance, Reno almost didn't hear his cell phone ring. "Rude, shut up!"

Irritated, Rude turned off the vacuum and let Reno answer.

"Hello? Good afternoon, Mr. President…" Reno ignored Rude's eyebrows shooting up over the rims of his sunglasses. "No…no, sir we haven't heard from him…it's not like Vincent to neglect his reports…today, sir?... _now_, sir?... umm…no, of course it's not an issue, I mean, we're on call and all that, aren't we? We'll be there as soon as possible. Good bye, sir."

"We're leaving?" Rude questioned.

"Yup. Nibelheim, Shinra wants us to check up on Vincent. Seems he hasn't reported for the last week."

"Not like him," Rude grunted.

"Nope." Reno picked himself off the couch and tugged on his jacket. Looking up, he noticed Rude was wearing a pinstriped apron. "Rude, get that goddamnit apron off."

Rude looked slightly offended as he slipped the apron over his head and folded it neatly. "I don't want to get my suit dusty."

Reno shook his head. "Rude, sometimes I wonder about you…"

"Do you really?" Rude asked unconcernedly, cracking his knuckles as he pulled on his gloves.

"Don't do that." Reno shuddered. "It sounds like you're breaking bones."

Rude slowly cracked each knuckle on his other hand with a resounding snap and offered Reno a challenging look.

"Forget it."

--------------------------------------------

"Up and at 'em, Reno, we're here," Rude said, kicking his sleeping partner in the ribs.

"Ten more minutes," Reno mumbled, waving his nightstick at Rude and keeping his eyes firmly closed.

"Nope." Rude snatched Reno's weapon and gave him a mild jolt.

"$#%! Ouch!" Reno's eyes snapped open and he tore his weapon out of Rude's hand. "Leave my nightstick alone."

Rude rolled his eyes and hopped out of the helicopter. "Come on. The sooner we go and find out what's keeping Vincent so busy, the better."

Reno shrugged. "Maybe he's got a girlfriend and just can't be bothered with the most powerful company in the world."

"Maybe."

Reno followed his partner down the pathway to the decidedly "sleepy" looking town. The front entrance was lackluster, consisting of a rusting archway with the word "Nibelheim" in rust spotted white paint. Rust seemed to be a common theme in Nibelheim, Reno noted with slight distaste, looking critically at the half dissolved truck that sat next to a building in the front and even the metal shingled roofs were starting to look rust spotted. "This place is a dump."

Rude shrugged. "Maybe. You'll notice that places that are 'anti-Shinra' or 'unsure as to whether or not to support Shinra' are in evident disrepair. Wutai is a good example of an 'anti-Shinra' town. The only thing they've preserved is their culture."

"Yeah? So…Icicle was 'anti-Shinra', right?" Reno shuddered.

"Yup. Obviously, Midgar isn't, and neither are Mideel or Rocket Town."

"Rocket Town?" Reno asked.

"Formally 'Little River Creek'. I think 'Rocket Town' is a distinct improvement, as they're building a rocket there."

"How the hell do you know all this stuff?"

"I pay attention and don't get distracted by alcohol and women. Now, we should go to the general store or the inn and ask if there's anybody here from Shinra."

"You're the boss," Reno responded, giving a mock salute with his nightstick.

Rude rolled his eyes and entered a store. A bell rang merrily and the atmosphere inside was cheerful and almost frontier-like in that everything seemed to be made of wood and the store seemed to carry all manner of practical goods. Wasting no time, Rude made his way up to the counter and rang a bell for service.

"Coming!" a girlish voice called. A short, busty blonde in a low cut blouse and peasant skirt suddenly bustled out of the back room and behind the counter, smiling vapidly. "Hello, welcome to Nibelheim!"

"Thank you. Listen, miss, we're looking for some of the operatives and scientists that our company sent down here to research the development of a certain species, recently discovered in a geological stratum…"

Reno noticed the completely blank look on the girl's face and tapped Rude on the shoulder. "Hey, c'mere." He backed off from the counter a bit and indicated Rude was to come closer. "Listen, man, you lost her after the word 'looking'. She's just a small town chick and I swear to god there's a sunbeam shining straight through her head. Maybe let me handle this."

"Whatever you say, Reno."

"Thanks. Go look for some scalp wax or something," Reno instructed, ducking the smack he knew his partner would direct at the back of his head.

Rude grunted and left Reno to his own devices.

Idly, he sidled up to the counter and leaned against it casually, smiling at the young clerk disarmingly. "Don't mind my partner. He's an idiot."

Nervously, the girl giggled. "He does sorta talk funny."

"He does more than just _talk_ funny. Anyway, what's your name, angel?"

The girl giggled again. "Millian."

"Beautiful name. Listen doll, we're looking for a friend of ours, he's a Turk like me…"

"You're a Turk?" Millian squeaked, eyes widening and seeming to notice Reno's midnight blue suit, the hallmark of the organization, for the first time.

Reno paused, wondering if she was impressed or terrified. He decided that it was "do or die" and smiled again. "Yeah, that's what the suit means. I'm Reno."

"Wow…" she breathed, reaching out and touching the fabric wonderingly.

Reno chuckled and curled a lock of her blonde hair around his finger. "Listen, beautiful, have you seen any other Turks around here? He'd be tall, taller than me, with black hair and a gun…"

Millian screwed up her pretty face, remembering. "Umm…there was one guy…in here every other day, buying lots and lots of bullets, but he didn't ever talk none and he hasn't been back in a while."

"That would be him," Reno said triumphantly. "Do you know where he is now?"

"I think he's staying at Valhalla Mansion…"

"Where?" Reno prompted.

"The big house down the street," Millian answered.

"Oh…gosh, you've been a lot of help…" Reno glanced over to see how Rude was occupied. "I don't know how I could thank you…" he started, giving her an innocent look; which even she should have been able to figure out.

She giggled coyly. "I think I know…" With a short hop, she leapt on the counter and swung her legs around, so she was facing Reno. Giggling again, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and he could feel her fingers weaving through his hair.

"Yeah, you guessed it…" Reno murmured as she started pressing her lips against his cheek. He was rather startled to feel a hand slip down his chest, under his jacket and start fumbling with the buttons on his shirt. _"Holy shit, she moves fast! All righty then, I can go fast too…" _Expertly, he slid his own hands up the back of her blouse and snapped the strap of her bra playfully.

She shrieked and tittered girlishly, surprisingly in the middle of a kiss, and her femininely strong hands gripped his shoulders tightly.

Reno suddenly heard the unpleasant sound of a shotgun being cocked and heard a low growl from in front of him. Nervously, he glanced over his playmate's shoulder and noticed the red-faced storeowner with a rifle and painfully reminded himself that he was up to his elbows in storeowner's daughter. "Umm…"

"What's the matter Reno?" she asked demurely, baby blue eyes completely and totally unaware of the situation behind her.

Reno backed off, eyes intent on the rifle trained on his head. "Ah…"

Millian gave him a confused look and turned to see what held his attention. "Oh. Hi, Daddy. This is Reno…"

The storekeeper snarled again and advanced with his rifle still fixed on Reno. Anxiously, Reno backed up, tripping over a stack of axes and falling back on the floor.

"Reno?" Rude called, coming into the aisle and taking stock of the situation quickly. "Oh dear. Sir, please forgive my partner, he's an idiot. Not quite right in the head, they say. He probably had no idea what he was doing." Firmly Rude grasped Reno by the back of the collar and hauled him to his feet. "Bad Reno!" Less than gently, Rude dragged Reno to the door and threw him out easily, to land sprawled in the street with as much dignity as he could muster.

Rude took his sunglasses off and rubbed his eyes with a sigh. "I'm truly sorry about him," he called over his shoulder.

"He didn't _seem _like a retard…I thought he was smart…" Millian said, surprised.

"I'm sure you did." Rude exited and stood over Reno, who had decided to lie in the middle of the street, sulking. "Oh, get up."

"No," Reno pouted.

"Come on, I'll drag you if you don't get up."

"Fine." Reno pulled himself off the ground and dusted himself off. "We have to go to Valhalla Mansion."

"I realize that," Rude answered, making for the large house at the edge of town.

Reno trailed along behind, stopping to pet a stray dog. He had a curious affection for strays; possibly because he could relate to the situations they were in.

"Reno, just because I called you a retard doesn't mean you have to act like one," Rude said disdainfully.

With a sigh, Reno came up behind Rude who had stopped in front of the gate to the mansion. "Whoa…creepy."

"Yup," Rude agreed and proceeded up the front walk of the ivy-covered mansion.

"Hey! Hold it, we're going in there?"

"We can't tell what he's doing by standing outside and yelling at him."

"What if it's haunted?" Reno protested, hanging back.

Rude gave him a patronizing look. "Do you realize just how stupid that sounded?"

"Argh…fine, I'm coming…" Reluctantly Reno followed Rude up the walk. "Should we just go right in, or do we knock first?"

Rude shrugged. "I guess we just go in. Seems all quiet."

"Yeah…I guess…" Reno couldn't shake the feeling that there was a very dark aura coming from Shinra Mansion. "I've got a bad feeling."

"Don't worry about it."

"I _do_ worry about it."

"Well, stop it." Rude pushed open the door of the mansion and looked around the decrepit foyer. "Is anyone home?"

Silence greeted the two Turks, seeming to grow from the stillness in the mansion. Years' worth of dust had gathered on the furniture, what pieces of furniture were still standing at least. Reno felt eerily like he'd stepped into a tomb, a house where minds and memories lingered, their respective owners long gone. "Guess not, let's go."

Rude gave him a hard glare. "We'll look around. There are supposed to be four people in this house. Just because we didn't find them immediately upon stepping into the lobby is no reason for us to stop looking. This is a big mansion, so there's bound to be lots of places they could be."

"Damn you and your logic," Reno grumbled.

Rude ignored him and jogged up the stairs, alert for any noise or sign of movement from the house. Reno tagged along, reluctant to get left alone in the mansion. The staircase creaked noisily as he placed his foot on a sensitive board. Both Reno and Rude froze, looking around for monsters.

"This place is like _dead_," Reno murmured, climbing the rest of the way up the stairs.

Rude nodded and went down another hallway. Every once in a while, Reno would notice a bullet hole or two in the wall and took to counting them. "Looks like Vincent's been busy," Rude commented, interrupting his thoughts.

"Dammit, Rude, now I lost count," he grumbled. "I was at twenty-six bullet holes.

"I counted twenty-eight."

"Whatever…you start with the bedroom at the end of the hallway, I'll check the other one, ok?" Reno suggested.

"Sure." Rude headed in one direction and Reno in the other.

Upon reaching the room at the end of the hallway, he could immediately tell it was a woman's, due to the soft scent emanating from inside and the slightly homey touch that seemed to be left behind. The room was empty and the sheets on the bed were a mess, as though someone had slept in or on top of the blankets, and left the bed unmade. There were several articles of clothing scattered about the room, Reno picked up a lab coat with a name embroidered on the front pocket. "Dr. Lucrecia M. Cherie," he read aloud. Tossing the coat aside, he went into the bathroom and caught sight of a home pregnancy test, of a brand that he had noticed in the general store. Suspicions immediately rose in his mind regarding the three men who inhabited the house. Gast, married to Iflana, but was it a happy marriage? Vincent, dark and brooding, but perhaps enchanted by whomever Lucrecia was. And last, Hojo, playfully nicknamed by some of the company, "the evil scientist".

Reno shook his head and was about to leave the room when he skidded slightly on a bit of liquid that was spilt on the floor. Turning, he noticed that it was all over the bathroom floor, as well as shards of glass. Looking a little harder, his eyes traveled back, behind the toilet and fell on a twitching purple tentacle. "Oh. My. God." A freezing cold sensation washed over his body at the same time burning his flesh as though he was sweating Mako. Reno shot out of the room and ran headlong into Rude. His partner grunted, but Reno was thrown backwards to the floor, landing with such an impact that he crashed through the rotting wooden boards and felt a splinter or two dig themselves into his palm.

"What's the matter, Reno?" Rude asked, helping him to his feet with a quizzical expression.

"N-n-nothing…" Reno stammered, positive that Rude would think him crazy if he told him what he had seen. _"What I **think** I saw," _he corrected himself mentally. As though to prove his point he pulled a splinter from his hand and winced. "That hurts."

"Toughen up," Rude instructed. "I think I found something."

"Yeah? No sign of anyone, though, right?"

"Nope." Rude led the way to the room on the corner. "There's a hidden staircase in this room."

"Why is that relevant?" Reno asked, looking around for signs of the staircase.

"Because I think this may have been Vincent's room."

"Oh. Ok, where is it?" Reno glanced around, seeing several definite signs that this was Vincent's room. A blue jacket in the corner, the bed neatly made, a couple ammo belts, a book on the dresser, and a silencer.

Rude walked over to the far wall and prodded a brick on it gently. It swung outward, revealing a makeshift staircase that spiraled downward to a dank and forbidding basement.

"Have you been down yet?" Reno asked, looking down into the darkness.

"Nope. I figured I'd wait for you."

"Thanks," Reno said sarcastically, pulling out his nightstick. "Well, let's go…"

Rude nodded and started down the stairway, testing each board before putting his weight on it all the way. Slowly and carefully, he made his way to the bottom, observing his surroundings closely. "Torches."

"Hey, yeah…" Reno noted, thankful for the flickering light the flames cast. "So…are there people down here?"

"I dunno…" Rude started down the hallway, making for a door at the end. Nervously, he knocked. "Hello?"

"Come in," a voice called.

Startled, Reno watched as Rude pushed open the door to a rather cluttered laboratory. "Excuse me?"

"Well, get inside," the voice called again, more irritably.

"Dr. Hojo, sir?" Rude asked hesitantly.

"What?" the voice demanded sharply. From out of the shadows a man stepped, short, but rather slender with dark hair and quick dark eyes. His forehead protruded and he had short hair and small oval glasses.

"President Shinra sent us down to investigate why…"

"Why we haven't been sending progress reports over the past few weeks?" Hojo interrupted.

"Pretty much, sir," Reno answered. "More specifically, why Vincent isn't sending reports, it's not like him to neglect his duties…"

"Oh. Him. He's dead."

Reno stood silent for a moment. "Dead?" he repeated, not believing the scientist.

"Yes. Dead. Not alive."

"A-are you sure?" Reno asked, unaware of how stupid his question sounded. _"Dead? No way. Not…he can't be…Vincent is the one person on the planet I **can't** imagine dying…"_

"How?" Rude asked finally, watching Hojo intently.

"Shot himself."

"He shot himself?" Reno repeated, seriously shocked. "Vincent was…I didn't think…he wouldn't…he…what about the other two people who were here?"

"Gast and Lucrecia went back to Shinra HQ on Wednesday."

"Three days ago…when did he…die?" Reno asked, definitely not liking the way it sounded when he spoke the words.

"Yesterday."

Reno's eyes widened. "_Yesterday? _He died yesterday?"

Hojo looked irritated. "Why do you find the need to repeat the obvious?"

"I…I don't believe it," Reno murmured. "He…killed himself…" _"No. No way. He wouldn't have. I didn't know him all that well, but he wouldn't have shot himself…"_

"Where's his body?" Rude suddenly asked, drawing surprised looks from both Hojo and Reno.

"You want to say a final good bye to your comrade?" Hojo asked, dry smile touching his thin lips. "I suppose I can allow that."

Rude nodded. "Something to that effect."

"Very well," Hojo agreed, slipping out of the room and down the hallway, pulling a key from his pocket. "This may be a bit of a shock to you…"

Reno bit his lip, extremely nervous and unsure as to what Rude hoped to gain from the excursion. "How…where did he shoot himself?" he asked as Hojo turned the key in the lock.

"In the chest." Hojo pushed open the door of a small dark room. "Go get a torch."

Obediently, Reno fetched a torch from outside, wondering what it was that was nagging in the back of his mind. "Here you are, sir…"

Hojo took the torch without a thank you and went around lighting others. Chilled, Reno noticed that the bulky item he had noticed in the shadows before was a coffin. "You. Tall fellow. Take the lid off that if you want to see your friend," Hojo instructed.

Obediently Rude stepped forward and wedged his gloved fingers underneath the edge of the casket's lid and started to heave upward. Reno closed his eyes and braced himself, thinking back to a funeral that had been held for one of the nuns when he had still been at the orphanage. Sister Beatrice Lincoln had lain on her bier, still as a statue, but for all the world, looking like she was asleep. He heard the heavy lid fall to the ground with a thud and reopened his eyes.

"My god…" Rude murmured, but Reno only half listened, fixated on the completely still figure in the coffin. Too late, he realized that Sister Beatrice had been made up to look like she was still living, most likely for the sake of not scaring the children who had been brought to her funeral. Reno shuddered at how pale Vincent looked. The midnight black of his hair only provided a greater contrast making his skin seem even more colorless. His hands were folded, laid on his chest, fingers curled slightly around the handle of his Quicksilver and almost, but not quite hiding a bloody stain on his shirt.

"Rude!" Reno whispered, shocked as his friend reached in and touched his fingertips to the back of Vincent's hand, then bending back one of his fingers slightly.

"Cold as ice…" he murmured, mostly to himself, sunglasses hiding whatever emotion was in his eyes. "But…still…"

"What the hell are you doing?" Reno groaned softly, painfully aware of the fact that Hojo was watching and probably thought that Reno and his partner were psychos.

Rude ignored him and gently lifted Vincent's hand, touching his fingers lightly to a spot on his superior's wrist. For a long minute, stretching to two minutes, there was silence in the room.

"What in god's name is wrong with you?" Reno demanded.

Rude carefully laid Vincent's hand back where it had rested. "There's nothing wrong with me. He's not dead."

"What the hell are you talking about?" Reno asked, confused and hopeful at the same time.

"He's not dead. He's cold, but his limbs haven't stiffened up with rigor mortis yet. Usually, it sets in about two to four hours after death and lasts for about four days. Aside from that, he's got a pulse. It's extremely slow, only four beats in two minutes, but somehow it's keeping him alive."

Reno shook his head in disbelief. "He's not dead?"

"I don't think he is. Though, I don't know…well…he's in good shape…treatment with Red Mako, his heart rate _could _drop next to nil and still keep him alive…it's theoretically _possible_…Dr. Hojo, what do you make of it?" Rude asked, turning to the scientist with a note of challenge in his voice.

Hojo's expression was cool, almost distant. "I'll judge for myself, thank you." Coming forward and indicating that both Reno and Rude were to step away from the coffin, he slowly pulled the gun from Vincent's fingers. "This will just get in the way…" he murmured, by way of explanation, as he laid a hand on Vincent's chest, closing his eyes and feeling for a heartbeat.

Reno held his breath, praying that Rude was right and that maybe, for all his supposed evilness, Hojo could do something.

"By Jenova herself, he is alive," Hojo said, feigning exaggerated surprise. "So I didn't lie to Lucrecia."

"What?" Reno asked.

"I told her I wouldn't let him die. She had no idea he was already as good as dead."

"I don't understand what you're talking about, doctor…" Reno protested.

"To be honest, I hadn't counted on Shinra keeping such a close watch on me. Whether he knew why he was really here or not, Valentine had to go."

"It is a physical impossibility for a person to shoot himself in the chest…" Reno mumbled, remembering the quote and looking at Rude with a horrified expression.

"Correct," Hojo answered, lifting the gun he still held in his hand. "I don't suppose either of you will get a chance to tell anyone, though."


End file.
